Love Me Dead
by Xx.Triple A.xX
Summary: Sequel to RISTI. AU. Welcome to 1463 Rue de Luce in Lille, France. It is possibly cursed, attracts an abnormal amount of stray cats, and has a history of mysteriously disappearing residents. Ex-Inspector Javert is on the case - but for how long?
1. Cat Attacks and Strange Old Ladies

**Opening Authoressial Note:** Hail, and greetings! After promising… for a LONG time… that I would write this… HERE IT IS. The sequel to RISTI! You had all better be as excited about this as I am.

**Disclaimer:** Everything is mine! Muahahaha! …Except Les Miz. (POUT)

* * *

~x^^x~

The house was not new, but then again, it wasn't old. It was in excellent condition, painted a pleasant shade of yellow with white trim and surrounded by a somehow not ominous-looking black metal fence. The grass was neatly trimmed, and there were rose bushes all along the front of the house. Looking at them through the window of the still-moving carriage, ex-inspector Luc Javert approved; thorns were generally a good deterrent of home invaders. It was set back a little from the road it was on – the Rue de Luce – and a pleasant, well-maintained pathway led from the sidewalk up to the front door.

"Oh, it's _adorable_!" Cosette gushed from where she sat on the other side of the carriage, next to her adoptive father. "I'm quite in love with it already. I can't wait to see what the inside looks like!"

"Well, you may certainly go right ahead and see," Valjean said, smiling to see her so excited. As soon as the carriage stopped, Valjean emerged and helped the young woman out. She kissed him swiftly on the cheek and tripped up the path to the house through the open gate, stopping to wave back at him just before she entered the building.

Javert slid out of the carriage and came to stand beside the older man. "You are both such romantic saps."

Valjean beamed. "Isn't she _wonderful_?"

Javert shot him the sideways glare of a cynic who can't remember being loved a day in his life. "Valjean, you are -"

Before he could get any further, a cat attacked his face.

"YAGH!"

"My word! Javert!" Valjean caught the other man as he nearly fell over attempting to remove the orange tabby from his head. The cat, however, refused to let up, digging its claws in and swiping one paw across his face.

"OW! #, cat, THAT WAS MY EYE!" Forcefully, Javert clamped both of his hands around the creature, dragged it off his face, and threw it into the street, where it landed on all fours and yowled at him before bolting away.

"Javert, are you alright?" Valjean asked, his tone panicked. "JAVERT! Speak to me!"

"You know," the ex-inspector growled from behind his hands, "just because I have a history of near-fatal accidents does NOT mean you have to get hysterical every time something bad happens to me. I'll live. My face hurts, though!" he added in irritation.

"Heh heh heh. So it's chosen."

Javert and Valjean both turned to look at the older woman who had spoken, Javert with one hand still pressed over his injury.

"Rrgh. Let me handle this," he growled, starting forward, but Valjean held him back effortlessly with one hand.

"What do you mean, madam?" he inquired politely. She grinned.

"Oh, many a family's come to stay in this house," she said ominously. "But it always picks one family member – just one – and that one'll start actin' strange, and disappear, and come back – until finally they _don't_, and that always scares the rest of the family away.

"House comes with a lot of cats, too," she added. "Odd place. You'll all be gone before ya know it! And one of you," here her gaze fixed on Javert, "will be gone for GOOD."

And with a maniacal cackle, she was gone.

There was a long pause as the two men stared after her. Then Javert spoke.

"Batty old loon. I told you to let me deal with her."

Valjean smiled. "She was harmless. Simply welcoming us to the neighborhood!" He turned to face his companion. "What a friendly – JAVERT! YOU'RE GUSHING BLOOD!"

Javert cast a cursory glance at the puddle of blood forming on the sidewalk beneath him. "Oh. Well, head wounds tend to bleed a lot. It's likely not that –"

"Don't move your hand! Oh my – oh my – we have to get you inside, lying down, I have to call a doctor!"

As amusing as it was to watch Valjean do his best impression of a headless chicken, Javert was feeling a bit lightheaded. "Yeah… that cat did put his claws where claws aren't supposed to be. I'll just go inside now."

"YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITHOUT ME! You might – you might pass out in the front room or something! TEA! That's what you need, is a nice, strong cup of tea."

"Are you sure _you're_ not the one in need of tea? You seem rather frantic."

"I am not frantic. I am always in control in these situations."

"Except when there's blood involved."

"Be quiet. You're not permitted to speak until you're sitting down with a cup of hot tea."

Javert smirked, but let Valjean practically drag him into the house. Just before they entered, a tingling sensation shot up his back, and he whirled to stare into the street behind him with the eye that wasn't currently covered.

He saw nothing. But even as he turned and went into the house, he was certain that someone had seen him – and kept on watching.

~x^^x~

* * *

**A3:** Oh noes! What a truly dramatic start to the sequel! Will Javert be alright?

(Dramatic pause)

NO. Hahaha, just kidding… OR AM I?

…Your murderous glares just killed my flowers. APOLOGIZE.

I would also like to point out that Javert, Cosette, and Valjean's new house in Lille is on the Rue de Luce, "Luce" being an anagram for "clue." AREN'T I CLEVER HO HO HO HO. (Cough) And on a final note, I'd like to add that I know absolutely nothing about Lille, France, so it's ALL MADE UP. You've been informed. (Deep breath) And last, but simply not least, _guess who's coming back to the EANs by popular demand!_

(Crickets)

**A3:** …Just as soon as we can find his cowardly revolutionary bum. I have people out looking for him now.

**Erik:** (Pokes head in) Hey, we found him, but he's putting up a bit of a fight and we can't figure out how to turn off the safety on the tranquilizer gun. OW DON'T BITE MY LEG (Punjab)

**A3:** Hey hey hey hey now, nonlethal force! DID I NOT EMPHASIZE THE IMPORTANCE OF USING NONLETHAL FORCE! The readers like him!

(Crash, bang, minor explosion)

**Enjolras:** GOOD GRACIOUS! I'D RATHER _**DIE**_ THAN RETURN TO YOUR SADISTIC CLUTCHES!

**A3:** You know, you're up against the Phantom of the Opera and an Elf with a lightsaber. You don't have a chance.

(SMASH DESTROY EXPLODIFY)

**A3:** He'll be here in the next chapter guys. Don't worry. (Ducks) HEY, I gave you guys a tranquilizer gun for a REASON!

**Erik:** IT DOESN'T (crash bang) HE BROKE (choke) GIVE ME BACK MY PUNJAB YOU DASTARDLY (boom)

**A3:** …I may have to step in and break this up. Anyway, guys, review a sequel! (Waves)


	2. Eyepatches and Wobbly Armoires

**Opening Authoressial Note:** Hello and greetings, my lovelies! I don't really have anything to say here... just enjoy the story and have a lovely Memorial Day! THANK YOU, AMERICAN TROOPS, FOR DEFENDING OUR COUNTRY! You guys are the WIN! Not to mention awesome. :D

**Disclaimer:** BWAHAHA, THIS IS TOTALLY PUBLIC DOMAIN but I'll cover my butt anyway. Victor Hugo owns 'em all. ...Except the cat. THE CAT IS MINE. I'd grab it and hold it possessively to illustrate my point, but it would probably claw my face up. It's not a particularly nice cat. ...BUT IT'S MINE.

* * *

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

My eye had been injured once before, when several criminals decided that nothing and no one could make them go to the prison where they rightfully belonged and began to hurl anything and everything at me and my reinforcements. One of their projectiles had struck me in the face, but I paid the injury no heed until the next day, when a lovely purple-and-blue bruise had formed on and around my eye.

That had not warranted any medical attention other than my staying at the office all day while holding something cold to my eye to make the swelling and discoloration ease up. But cat scratches are something entirely different from black eyes.

"Leave it _alone_, Javert," Valjean scolded from across the breakfast table. "It's on there for a reason."

"And what might that reason be?" I demanded irritably. "To drive me mad?"

"At least it's not permanent," he said, serenely sipping his tea. "Be thankful for that."

I scowled at him, resisting the urge to snap about my current lack of something called _depth perception_. Though of course, there was utterly no way I was going to tell him that I had already collided with walls three times today while trying to go through doors.

"Well, isn't it better than the bandage?" Cosette inquired sweetly. "Now you look more like… a dashing rogue, perhaps, and quite less the victim of some tragic accident."

"I have absolutely no interest in appearing to be a 'dashing rogue,'" I said shortly. "I'd rather look like I'd been in an accident."

I heard Valjean mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "childish," and immediately proceeded to glare at him. I wasn't allowed to for long, however, because Cosette tactfully changed the subject.

"So what is everyone doing today? Papa? M. Javert?"

I disdainfully sipped at my coffee mug, still irritated by Valjean. "I thought I would finish moving in the last of the heavier pieces of furniture. There's still an armoire and a couple of bookshelves that need placing."

"I was going to start work on the garden," Valjean said pleasantly. "I am especially interested in those rose bushes up front. They look neglected, but I think with a little work they could be made presentable again."

"Marvelous! I, too, was going to work in the garden – well, one of a sort. I've noticed that there are flower-boxes on the outside sills of certain windows, and I would love to try and revive them. This seems like such a _nice_ house; I can't imagine why anyone would leave it."

"Well, I'm not entirely sure what happened to the owner, but no one else who's lived here has stayed for very long, or so I've heard," Valjean said, beginning to gather up the empty dishes on the table. I pushed my plate towards him absentmindedly, my thoughts drifting to the batty old lady who had appeared directly after my face had been attacked by a cat.

"…need help?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"I was asking if you thought you might need some help moving the furniture." Valjean was looking at me with concern. "The bookshelves are small enough, but it took two men to just get the armoire _in_ the house."

"I'll be fine," I said, rising from my seat. "If I need any help, I'll call for you."

His eyes narrowed. "Do you promise?"

I made a noncommittal noise and waved him away, my mind already on the task ahead of me.

~x^^x~

The bookshelves were in place; the armoire was not. The armoire was, in fact, proving to be a difficulty. Fortunately its destined location was on the first floor; had it been on the stairs, I would have been forced to ask for help. As it was, I was used to moving furniture by myself. The only thing that stood in my way was that I had never had to move anything quite this big.

I managed to get it down on its side and pull it through doors that way. Finally, I had it into the sitting-room, where I stood it up in its proper place against the wall.

Sighing, I turned away and looked out the window, taking a break before I began to adjust its position. I could see Valjean puttering about in the garden, his hands covered in dirt and a brown handprint across his face where he'd obviously tried to wipe something off. I raised an eyebrow in amusement, being too dignified to snicker.

"Meow."

I whirled to look out the window next to the armoire. Perched on the sill was an orange tabby cat. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the one that had attacked me. It licked its paw while staring at me the whole time, a smug expression in its eyes.

I had never been fond of cats. They would hang around prisons and I would trip over them. In addition, all cats seemed to hate me as a general rule. When much younger, I had been possessed of the suspicion that they stalked me in packs and plotted how to ruin my day with cat-related incidents. …But as I said, that was when I was _much_ younger.

"Go away," I told it shortly. "I don't like you."

It stared at me. "Mrow?"

"You know why." …And I was not seriously having a conversation with a feline. "Now shoo! Go away!"

Suddenly it laid its ears flat back against its head, but it wasn't an antagonistic gesture. Its tail, which had previously been waving in the air behind it, shot between its legs, and its eyes grew wide and frightened.

Sensing movement behind me, I spun around. The armoire was wobbling wildly, and as I turned to face it, the piece of furniture toppled over, threatening to crush me if I didn't do something to prevent it very quickly.

"…Valjean." I bit the name out from behind clenched teeth, reluctant to ask for his assistance but knowing this would end badly if I didn't. He failed to respond, which was not surprising as I hadn't said his name very loudly.

"Mreeeeowwww." The cat batted at the curtains, the tip of its tail twitching, its gaze still concerned.

"You shut up. VALJEAN!"

"Yes?" When I didn't answer, "Yes? Javert, what is it? Is something wrong?"

When this, too, was met with silence, the back door opened and shut, and I heard Valjean's running footsteps approaching my location. Finally, he entered the sitting room.

"Oh no, _Javert_! What happened? Are you alright?"

"Fine," I muttered, most of my concentration focused on keeping the armoire from pressing me further into the floor. I had dropped to one knee on the floor to help reinforce myself, my arms crossed in an X above my head – an X that was keeping the armoire away from my body, for the most part. "I don't know what happened; I turned around and it was rocking back and forth. If I hadn't turned when I did I would probably be dead right now, if not very badly injured."

Valjean helped me ease the piece of furniture back up into a standing position. This time we both made sure it was stable, trying to rock it on purpose. It didn't move. He eyed me curiously.

"Are you -"

"Sure that's what happened? Yes, Valjean, I am. Though even if you don't believe me, you must admit: stranger things have occurred."

"That is very true," he affirmed, knowing that I was referring to the events that had led to our move to Lille. "Well… I don't really want to leave you alone in here, then. Why don't you come outside?"

I shrugged. "Very well. Do you need my help in the garden?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you might help me dig up some earth. It needs to be turned over, you see, and…"

I followed him out of the room, listening to his happy gardening-related chatter, when it suddenly struck me that he hadn't commented on the cat. Pausing in the doorway, I glanced over my shoulder, looking back at the window.

It did not surprise me that the cat was gone.

* * *

**A3:** GOOD EVENING AMERICA! And anyone from any other countries who may be reading this! First, it's time for a little trivia. If you can tell me why our intrepid trio's house number is 1463, YOU GET A COOKIE! It's kind of an obscure reason though, so if no one gets it, I'll give out cookies for all in the next chapter's EANs.

Come to think of it… I might have Enjolras give them out instead.

**Enjolras:** (Screams through gag)

**Erik:** (Puts tranquilizer gun to his neck) Do NOT make me use this on you again.

**A3:** Yeah… Erik's still hanging around, partly because a surprising amount of you guys noted and approved his appearance, and partly because he's worried that Enj here is a little more than slightly mentally unhinged and might… try something. We're not sure WHAT; but we're waiting.

**Enjolras:** (Defiantly hums a bar of "Do You Hear the People Sing")

**Erik:** One should not hum while gagged. (Threatening) It might make them choke.

**Enjolras:** (Glare)

**A3:** Huh? What's going – ERIK YOU PUT THAT CATGUT ROPE AWAY RIGHT NOW

**Erik:** But he was asking –

**A3: **(Intimidating) _What was he asking for_?

**Erik:** …Reviews. Yeah. He wanted everyone to leave a review so he can continue to be a part of – OW! HE _KICKED_ ME! Let me kill him!

**A3:** NO. Restrain your violent urges. Let me hear you say "ommmm."

**Erik:** Ommmm –

**A3:** (Shoves a chocolate bar in his mouth)

**Erik:** Mmmrfglenommmm.

**A3:** Thaaaat's better.

**Enjolras:** MMMF!

**A3:** Let's see if you behave and THEN we'll talk about you getting any candy.


	3. Piano Lessons and Strange Criminals

**Opening Authoressial Note:** HI KIDDIES, I'm BACK. And I thought it was high time I brought in some villains, so I did!

Also, I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written for a fanfiction. It would have been shorter, but "shorter" just felt _too short_, so you get a long one.

**Disclaimer:** _Les Miz_ isn't mine. (Brief pause for tragic music) So sad, really. But the mean lady with the fan, Vivaldi, and all the creepy cats ARE. (Brief pause for happy music) Now ON WITH THE STORY!

* * *

**.-.****3****rd****-Person POV****.-.**

"I want that one."

"_That_ one? But he's -"

"That house is _my_ dominion and I will have who I like from it. Now, did you have something to say?"

"No, madame."

"Good boy." She tousled his hair, her hand encased in a spotless white glove, and he submitted to the treatment with reluctance. "Now, you know what to do."

"Yes." He paused, then blurted out what was on his mind without thought for the consequences. "But I really don't –"

He broke off as her closed fan struck his cheek, his only acknowledgement of the pain being that he closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from crying out. "You would not attempt to go against me, would you? Not _now_. It's far too late for that. For _you_."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. For his silence, he earned another pat on the head.

"Excellent. Go now."

She watched him go as he slunk out the door. As he closed it behind himself, she snapped her fan open and began to wave it up and down in front of her face.

"…It's so stuffy in here. But soon… soon."

The fan waved again before slowly coming to a halt as she stared resentfully at the door.

"Not soon enough."

~x^^x~

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

About a week after the armoire incident, Valjean bought a piano. It wasn't anything as extravagant as a grand piano, though I suspected that he could have easily afforded one; this was just a simple musical instrument that he had purchased with the intent of teaching Cosette how to play.

I ignored it at first, as much as one could with the plinking of a beginner's attempts at Chopin audible throughout the entire first floor. But my breaking point came when Valjean was out one day and the plinking was more hesitant and out-of-tune than usual.

"Cosette! Move."

"M. Javert?" she said, startled. "Er – I'm sorry, was my playing –"

"Your playing was atrocious." I don't believe in flattery. "Valjean has failed as any kind of a music teacher. In fact, I suspect that he is learning along with you." Nineteen years in the galleys hardly gives someone time for piano lessons, and he was terribly busy after that. "Now, there is enough room for two people on this bench. Move to that end."

She did, and I occupied the space beside her.

"The first thing you have to learn is that beginners are not supposed to play Chopin. It raises your chances of being brutally murdered by anyone with a taste for music. The next thing you must learn is that there is a note called Middle C, and it is around this note that all piano playing revolves."

It was a good two hours later, just after I had finished performing the same Chopin song that Cosette had been struggling through earlier (as a demonstration), that Valjean finally made his presence known. I had not noticed him at all since he had been on my blind side, and the piano had drowned out any noise he might have made while entering the house.

"Stop applauding," I snapped, standing and turning to face him. "When did you get home?"

"About an hour ago," he said happily. "I've been standing here since then. Neither of you noticed me; you were quite immersed in your lesson."

Meanwhile, Cosette had leapt up and flown to his side to embrace him. "Papa! It was a marvelous lesson, M. Javert taught me so much! I can play a song, but not very well yet, and I don't want to perform it for you until it's absolutely perfect – oh, you look tired, I'll go make some tea!"

As she left the room, Valjean raised an eyebrow at me. "_Piano_?"

I glanced at him as I closed the music book and pushed the bench underneath the piano. "I also play the violin. What of it?"

"I don't quite know," he said, seeming both amused and confused at the same time. "I mean… you've always been such a fierce workaholic. Where did you find the time to learn how to play two instruments? Much less _practice_ them?"

I tilted my head to one side. "What makes you think it wasn't part of the job?"

He frowned. "I don't… quite follow…"

"Really, Valjean." As I passed him on my way to the kitchen (tea sounded excellent at the moment), I placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. "The barricades weren't the _only_ time I ever went undercover."

~x^^x~

Time passed, and Cosette's piano lessons became a regular part of my days. She had a natural talent for music, and soon it was pleasantly filling the house. However, one Monday I deferred her lessons until the next day, leaving the house early to go explore the city.

I had done this before, but only for a couple of hours at a time. Today I planned to be out until late, mapping the city and getting to know my surroundings. In hindsight, it would have been a good idea to leave a note for Valjean and Cosette. But since I had never done such a thing in the past, I didn't now.

People shied away from me because of my eyepatch, which as I had suspected gave me a disreputable appearance. However, I was used to people avoiding me – I had never been particularly popular as an inspector – and so it hardly bothered me.

What _did_ bother me, however, was looking up from working on my map much later that day to find myself surrounded by cats.

I shot up out of my chair, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I had not had many "creepy" experiences in my life, but this was definitely one of them. As a general rule, 15 or more cats do not simply appear out of nowhere and then proceed to sit and stare at you without moving. And you may laugh at me – the great former inspector Javert, who has faced down many criminals in his day, many more dangerous by far than a pack of motionless cats – but wait until something similar happens to you and then you'll know.

It. Is. DISTURBING.

All of a sudden, they yowled and scattered, leaping over walls, chairs, and other obstructions until they had all vanished from my sight. I stared after them for a minute until I felt I could fully relax; then I sat back down and resumed work on my map.

"Well, that was disturbing! You must like cats if they follow you around like that everywhere!"

The unexpected exclamation had sent my pencil skittering over the paper; I glared at the scrawl across my map before turning my attention to the unknown speaker.

"Do I know – YOU!"

The man perched on the wall above me was tall and lean, and not particularly normal in appearance. His long red hair was streaked liberally with white despite his fairly young appearance (early or mid-30's) and was left to fall around his face and shoulders, unrestrained by a ribbon or tie of any sort. His clothing was rather British in style – he wore long black pants, a white dress shirt underneath a dark red checkered waistcoat, and highly polished black boots. A black fedora was on his head, perched at a haphazard angle that obscured part of his face.

If anything, it was his out-of-place fashion sense that caused me to recognize him.

"Ah! Have we met?"

"No, but I wish we had," I said, glaring up at him. "You may have heard of me, being in the profession that you are. My name is Inspector Javert. I work with the French police." Of course, I didn't any more, but there was no way this man was going to know that.

He leaned over far enough that he ought by all rights to have fallen off the wall, but I of all people knew that this man wasn't normal. I had tracked him and followed his actions over the years, and no _normal_ man could have gotten away with what he got away with.

"Inspector… Javert? No. Not ringing any bells, sorry." He tilted his head to one side. "You seem to know me, though."

"Indeed I do. I know _of_ you, at any rate. I spent four years tracking you through France." My eyes narrowed as I wished that I was armed.

"I suppose you're about to introduce me to myself, then."

"You are known only as Vivaldi. No one knows if that's your first or last name. You're one of the greatest and most bloodthirsty criminals the century has seen."

"Ah, yes, that description of me does sound familiar." His teeth flashed in a blinding-white grin. "I'm one of the greatest because no one has ever been able to find any evidence to pin me to the crimes I committed, correct? Much less find _me_."

Before I could respond, he glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "Terribly sorry, but I can't stay to chat. Places to go, people to kill. I'll find you later and we can continue this lovely conversation! Don't leave town." And with a wink at me, he was gone.

I almost followed him, but stopped myself, realizing that it was pointless without manpower and a plan. Besides, it was getting late, and I had the feeling that it would be in my best interests to get home sooner rather than later.

As it turned out, I was right.

~x^^x~

On my way home, it began to rain. By the time I reached 1463 Rue de Luce, it was pouring. A cat dashed past me in search of shelter as I crossed the street, which was vacant of all traffic, pedestrian or otherwise. I tried not to shiver as I walked through the gate – the rain was freezing – and up to the door, which was yanked open from the inside with alarming force before I even touched it.

"Do you have an excuse?"

I thought briefly. "No."

"Good, because if you did, I wasn't going to listen anyway." Suddenly, I was being jerked into the house by the front of my soaking wet coat. "Take that off and go change. Cosette, dear, would you make some tea?" The man could switch from irate to gentle and loving with alarming rapidity. "_Go_, Javert. I expect you to be in the kitchen within five minutes. We're going to have _words_."

There were four bedrooms in the house – one was a guest room – and I had claimed the only one on the first floor. I felt that I would be more easily able to respond to "household threats" that way: like criminals breaking down the front door or climbing in through a window, for example. Valjean had not liked the idea, feeling that it isolated me from the rest of the family, and said as much. In response, I had ignored him, and the entire fiasco ended with me getting my way.

I was dressed in dry clothing in under three minutes; the other two were spent in vigorously drying my hair with a towel and pulling it back into its customary severe style. I then made my way to the kitchen, where Valjean was waiting by himself, two cups of steaming hot tea on the table.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded as I sat down at the opposite end of the table. "You leave without saying a word, without even writing us a _note_, and then you come home _late_, not to mention _soaked_ to the skin! You could catch a cold!"

I sat with my hands locked around my teacup, my back ramrod-straight, my uncovered eye staring down at the tabletop. Part of me resented being lectured by an ex-convict, but a larger part of me realized that I had erred. I was part of this household now, and I had to abide by its rules. So I sat and accepted his reprimands in silence.

Finally he fell silent, staring at me. "Javert, it's unlike you to be so passive. Have you nothing to say?"

I shook my head, still not making eye contact. "You are correct on all counts. I should have left a note to tell you where I was going, and I should have been back earlier. I am entirely the one at fault and I accept that. Am I…" I trailed off, but forced the question out through clenched teeth. "Are you going to punish me?"

I could feel Valjean staring at me. Then, he scooted his chair back, stood up, and rounded the table until he had reached my side. I tensed, expecting a slap or something of the kind, but was greatly surprised when he poked me in the cheek instead.

My gaze darted to meet his. "Valjea -"

"This isn't the army, nor is it the police force," he said. "This is a _family_. As such, I am thoroughly entitled to lecture you to my heart's content when you worry me to death by disappearing in the morning and remaining missing all day long. But punishment – that's not on the _carte du jour_."

He began to leave the room, then paused in the doorway. "Besides, you're too old to punish. What are you, in your forties?"

"Valjean," I growled, "go away."

I heard him laughing as he left and contemplated throwing my teacup at his head, but ultimately decided against it. After all, it would have been a waste of perfectly good tea.

The rain fell down and pattered against the windows. If the curtains hadn't been closed, I would have seen the tall, slender figure standing in the yard next door, staring intently at the house as if he could see through walls.

But since they were, I didn't.

* * *

**A3:** (1) I SWEAR THERE WAS A POINT TO THE PIANO-LESSON SCENE. There wasn't when I wrote it, but THERE IS NOW. It will be revealed later.

(2) I'm trying to make Saturday my "regular update" day for both of my current stories in progress, this and _2010 in the 1900's_. So look forward to that!

(3) Was Chopin ALIVE when _Les Miz_ is supposed to take place? NO. Do I care? NO. Chiefly because I couldn't think of another composer to take his place. Also… it's AU, so Chopin can be alive and famous 30 years earlier than he's supposed to be IF I WANT.

…Oh wait. I just did a bit more research AND IT TURNS OUT that Chopin was totally alive at the time _Les Miz_ is supposed to take place. So. NEVAHMIND.

(4) My Jean and Javvie drink entirely too much tea. WHAT ARE THEY, BRITISH?

Okay, enough with the list. And on to the answer to the question that you've ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!

**Erik:** I haven't.

**A3:** That's 'cause you already knew the answer, stupid.

**Erik:** I AM NOT STUPID! I am insanely intelligent!

**A3:** (Cough) Yeah, you got that right. ANYWAY… Jean, Cosette, and Javert's house number, 1463, also happens to be the number of pages in the _Signet Classic_ paperback, unabridged edition of Victor Hugo's _Les Misérables_! I got my copy for three dollars at a thrift store. (Smug grin)

**Erik:** You haven't read it.

**A3:** YOU SHUT UP! Man, now you've RUINED it. They'll think me less of a fan! I can't help it that the version I _did_ read was abridged! I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS AN UNABRIDGED VERSION!

**Erik:** (Sigh) She's listened to the musical numerous times… and she has read a version of the book… so please don't think her a lesser fan…

**Enjolras:** (Spits out gag) You're pathetic! PATHETIC! And you call yourself a Mizzie? HOW DARE YOU – OW!

**Erik:** Don't. Diss. My authoress. Incidentally, do you know what this is? It's a cattle prod. I don't believe it's been invented yet in your time period, BUT IT WILL BE. Would you like to know what it does?

**A3:** (Snatches it and throws it away) Erik. You're supposed to watch him and make sure he doesn't do anything fishy, NOT TERRORIZE HIM.

**Enjolras:** How can I do anything fishy if I'm tied up like this?

**A3:** You're a revolutionary. You majored in fishy at college.

**Enjolras:** …What is she talking about?

**Erik:** Have you ever seen _Madagascar_?

**Enjolras:** No.

**Erik:** Then just smile and wave.

**A3:** I want coffee. But since that's totally unrelated, I will now give out the cookies I promised last chapter and get one of you guys to beg shamelessly for reviews. Hmn… Enjy. You do it.

**Enjolras:** NO! I did it ALL LAST STORY, _plus_ you've got me tied up and being threatened! I REFUSE!

**Erik:** (Distant) I found the cattle prod!

**Enjolras:** Please leave a review. It may well keep me alive. Plus, reviewing means that the story gets written faster, which means that it will get finished faster, which means I can LEAVE HERE faster.

**Erik:** (Wanders back in) Besides all that, reviews make Triple A here ridiculously happy. She bounces around the house and squees.

**A3:** I DO NO SUCH THING.

**Erik:** (Produces a camcorder out of nowhere) I have video footage. Shall I show them?

**A3:** Uh, no. No, let's not do that.

**Erik:** That's what I thought you'd say.

**Enjolras:** I'M STARTING A PETITION. Free the revolutionary! REVIEW IF YOU AGREE!

**A3+Erik:** IGNORE HIM.


	4. Unauthorized Hugs and an Invader

**Opening Authoressial Note:** WHAT IS THIS, THEY'RE PSYCHOANALYZING _DARTH VADER_? (Cough) I mean, um, yo! (Closes out of Yahoo!) I'm back on Saturday with a new chapter! See, I didn't forget. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I LOVE Valjean and Javert to pieces! …But they're not mine. Neither is Cosette, though you already knew that. I also entirely fail to own Skittles or their catchphrase.

* * *

**.-.****3****rd****-Person POV****.-.**

"You are taking _too long_. How long do you expect me to wait?"

He bowed his head, his hair falling in his face. "I would never expect you to wait any longer than was absolutely necessary -"

"So you're telling me that this delay is _necessary_? Just do it already. It has never taken you this long before."

"But… madame…" He wanted to explain, to at least _try_, but he knew she wouldn't listen. "This man… he fits in. He's not like the others. He _acts_ as if he dislikes the others, but in truth -"

"You are NOT contradicting me." She rose from her seat, and he shrank back. "Are you? Are you _criticizing_ my _choice_?"

"No! No. No no no." He didn't know what he'd been thinking. He knew what she could do if she felt so inclined, knew that his _everything_ depended on her. "No. No. Of course not. Never. Please… forgive me."

"…Very well. I will let it slide… _for now_. But next time, think before you speak."

"Always."

She sighed. "I want no more delays. Now go away."

He was gone.

~x^^x~

One day, while I was accompanying Valjean and Cosette on visits around the neighborhood, Vivaldi found me again, appearing on the street corner next to me as I waited for my two companions to emerge from a house.

"Hello," he said brightly. I refused to acknowledge his presence, chiefly because I hadn't noted his arrival and it had startled me. "Have I ever mentioned that I like your eyepatch? It makes you look dashing."

I shot him a cutting glare, and he flashed me one of those bright, disarming grins. This one was a bit lopsided, however, likely due to the still-bleeding gash lacerating his cheek.

Not that I cared, but… "What happened to _you_?"

"Heh. You noticed." His hand went up to dab at it. "Nothing, really. I just ran into a door."

"Doors don't give you knife wounds," I said idly. He smirked.

"Ah, you think you're so clever. It wasn't a knife."

I didn't encourage him by asking "what was it, then?" Again, it wasn't as if I actually _cared_ what happened to him. And besides, any injuries he got, he had coming – a just payment for a life of horrible crime.

Out of nowhere, Vivaldi hugged me.

"GET OFF!" My fist to the side of his head effectively dislodged him, though it didn't seem to have affected him much. "What are you doing? You DO NOT get to touch me!"

"But I think I like you," he said, beaming at me. "And I hug people I like. It's just the way I am. Don't expect me to be normal, M. Javert. Normal people aren't the notorious ones."

Before I could comment, he turned around to look up the next street, then looked back over his shoulder and smiled at me again. "I've got to go. Don't worry, though. Now that I've decided I like you, you'll _definitely_ be seeing me around."

"You did that last time," I muttered under my breath, but he heard me.

"Pardon?"

"You did that last time," I repeated, louder and more clearly. "You looked backwards right before you said you had to leave. Almost like someone was calling you."

Something unrecognizable flashed in his eyes, but when he spoke, it was with his usual flippancy. "Destiny! My destiny is what calls me!" he cried dramatically, waving one hand in the air.

"Your destiny is to be locked in a heavily guarded prison cell from which you will never be released," I snapped, and all he did was laugh before breaking into a run up the street.

The door of the house opened, and Valjean and Cosette emerged. "You must come in with us next time, Javert," Valjean said reprimandingly. "You missed out on milk and cookies!"

"Oh joy. A childhood snack staple. Feel my despair."

"Before we came out we thought we saw you talking to someone," Cosette said, either ignoring my sarcasm or entirely failing to recognize it as such. "Are you making friends?"

"HA!" I choked back the rest of the startled, scornful laugh. "No. Nothing of the kind. That man and I are the farthest thing from _friends_ you could imagine."

I didn't see the concerned look Valjean shot at me as I was looking at the list of names Cosette was now holding. "Who are we visiting next? Oh, those people. Well, I'll probably stay outside again. I don't want to frighten them with my -"

"Oh, _stop_ it. You're not frightening, I've _told_ you! It makes you look dashing." I twitched. "Now hurry up, we haven't got all day and there are still so many people to meet…"

~x^^x~

Later that day, I made up something on the piano while Cosette worked on her embroidery and Valjean read a book. I hadn't started out thinking of anything except the music, but as I continued to improvise, my mind drifted to my earlier encounter with Vivaldi, and unconsciously the song became deep and irritated.

"Javert? Is something wrong?"

The music broke off with a discordant clang as I stopped playing and looked over at where he had put his book down and was watching me worriedly. "No, why? Does it sound like something's wrong?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Is there… anything you want to talk about?"

I glanced at the window just in time to see a cat go leaping from the sill. "What is wrong with this house? There are entirely too many cats around here. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were following me."

"Well, you're kind of like a cat yourself," Valjean said, stretching his legs. "You're quiet, reclusive, not overly fond of people, surprisingly quick and agile, and you like to do things alone."

I glared at him. "Do you want to know something?"

"Certainly."

"I hate cats."

He winked at me. "Well, opposites attract. I suppose you're more of a dog person."

"Dogs I can tolerate, but I don't particularly care for any animals."

"Really? That's a pity."

We lapsed into silence, and after a time I began tinkering with the piano some more. The music filled the room, rendering any other noises inaudible except to someone who was trained to listen for things that weren't supposed to be there – like me.

Which was why I heard the CRACK of a tree branch breaking, and then the alarmed cry and thud of someone falling to the ground.

Cosette exclaimed in surprise as I shot up off the bench and bolted out the doorway, running through the house and then out into the garden. Valjean was close on my heels, demanding to know what was wrong. I offered him no response as I tore around the corner of the house and descended upon the young man trying to pull himself up out of several now-crushed rose bushes while attempting to defend himself from numerous hissing, swiping cats at the same time. The felines scattered as I grabbed the stranger by the back collar of his shirt and yanked him none too kindly to his feet.

"And now that I have caught you in the act," I said sharply, "I would like very much to know who you are and why you have been spying on Cosette for the past week and a half."

The young man looked at me with fear and Valjean with a mixture of confusion and anger as they both chorused,

"What?"

* * *

**A3:** MUAHAHAHA it's a SUBPLOT. Be afraid.

**Enjolras:** FEAR is not in my vocabulary. Equality! Liberty! Fraternity! THESE ARE THE WORDS I LIVE BY!

**A3:** Oh, stuff it. (Shoves Skittles in his mouth) Here. Taste the rainbow.

**Enjolras:** MMMGRF!

**A3:** …The rainbow of the REVOLUTION!

**Enjolras:** Mmf? (Begins to savor them)

**Erik:** I'll give it to you that Skittles come in red and blue, but white –

**A3:** White is not technically a color, so the white Skittles need not exist. Besides, white is not a rainbow color. ROY G. BIV, dude.

**Erik:** Hmm… point.

**Enjolras:** Those were quite delicious! Now, since you're giving me candy, may I assume that this means you're going to untie –

**A3:** No. Don't be ridiculous.

**Enjolras:** WHAT? It is not ridiculous! I deserve to be FREE!

**Erik:** Not after the fuss you put up about us getting you here, you don't.

**A3:** Besides, I have this _feeling_ that if you somehow become unbound, something absolutely horrible will happen.

**Erik:** COUGHforeshadowingCOUGH.

**A3:** (Pats him on the back) Here, have a glass of water.

**Erik:** (Real coughing now) 'Kay. Thank you.


	5. Useless Fops and Interrogatory Tactics

**Opening Authoressial Note:** TWENTY-FOUR reviews for FOUR chapters? (EPICSQUEE) You guys are AWESOME. You have no idea how… insanely… AWESOME that makes me feel. (Glomps you all)

The next chapter WILL have mainplot. In the meantime, have some subplot. Wish me luck and lots of love! **:3**

And on a final note: THIS CHAPTER IS LATE! SO LATE! A DAY LATE! …Though compared to update times in RISTI, this is nothing. :P Nevertheless, I = sorry. Do forgive me. Saturday was WAY busy. DARN THAT "REAL LIFE" THING.

**Disclaimer:** Dost I looketh like a person who might own such literary greatness? Forsooth, I thoughteth as mucheth. (Waves rapier) Now GET THEE TO A NUNNERY! (Cough) Too much Shakespeare. Yup.

* * *

"I think we ought to hang him upside-down from the eaves of the roof or some other such suitable high location and thrash him to within an inch of his life. What do you think, Valjean?"

"I have dealt with several unsavory types in my existence. I find that death threats, along with a few not-so-minor injuries, are highly effective in discouraging further such behavior."

The young man discovered by Javert in the yard had paled to the color of newly fallen snow and was sweating profusely as he shook with terror. "I-I-I d-didn't m-mean anything b-by it, sir – sirs – erm -"

He only managed to half-stifle his startled shriek as Javert shot forward and slammed his hands to the wall on either side of the young man's head.

"Don't. _Lie_. To. Me."

The boy squeaked. Then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he slumped to the floor.

Still in full interrogation mode, Javert was incensed. "Don't you _faint_ on me! GET UP!"

Before he could shake the stranger into wakefulness, Valjean stopped him with a hand on one shoulder. "Javert, I think you may have underestimated your own intimidation factor. Not only were you treating him like a convicted felon, but your eyepatch, despite the dashing appearance it lends you -"

"Now _you_ think it's dashing?"

" – makes you seem all the more terrifying in such a situation," Valjean continued, unfazed. "As such, I think we should wait a few minutes before waking him up. A 'recovery period,' if you will." A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. "And then it's _my_ turn."

"_Your_ turn? And you call me intimidating. _You'll_ give him a heart attack." But Javert stepped away, however grudgingly.

~x^^x~

After dispatching Cosette to make "luncheon," Valjean and Javert had turned on their guest with alarming rapidity, hauling him into a fairly empty room off the hall that served no real purpose and beginning the previous interrogation. Of course, a few things had needed explaining, first.

"I noticed him when I _kept_ noticing him, to be frank," Javert said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest but not taking his gaze from the young man. "Every day in the neighborhood, every day staying in one place, every day getting closer to our house. Though his interest was obviously centered on Cosette, he seemed to also be attracted to the sound of our piano, and since his boldness seemed to increase with every passing day, I suspected that if I were to set a trap for him there was a fairly decent chance of him 'falling' into it, as it were."

"So that's why the tree branch broke so easily…" Valjean muttered.

"Precisely. I took the liberty of weakening it with a saw." His gaze darted to the ex-convict. "I didn't tell you about this fop and my plans because I suspected that you might overreact."

"I don't mind," Valjean said dismissively. "You're probably right."

"_Probably_?" Javert scoffed.

"I'm not a fop!" the young man shrilled suddenly. Javert pushed himself off the wall.

"What an annoying voice," he said darkly. The stranger shrunk backwards as both men began to walk towards him.

"Indeed," Valjean concurred. "And he certainly deserves punishment for his actions. Have you any ideas on what course of action we should take?"

"As a matter of fact, I do…"

~x^^x~

Five minutes had passed. "That's long enough. Let's wake him up and resume the interrogation before Cosette gets back."

"Alright." Valjean knelt down by the man's side and was about to slap him lightly awake when Javert spoke, his voice deeper than usual.

"Stop."

Valjean froze. "What is it?"

"He's faking it. He woke up a little while ago."

Valjean stepped back and watched with interest as Javert's booted foot descended upon the young man's chest. "Get up, you _useless_ speck of humanity, before I feel inclined to haul you to your feet and throw you from a second-story window."

The fop's eyes flashed open. "Don't hurt me! I, I, _my name is Louis_!"

"Louis what?" Javert inquired, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his coat.

"L-Louis de Tourniquet. I'm – I'm what you might call an aristocrat – my father, anyway -"

"An aristocrat? Anyone who _stalks_ innocent young girls hardly deserves the title," Valjean said, reaching down and yanking de Tourniquet to his feet. "Now. First things first. I think you ought to apologize for your bad behavior."

"B-b-bad – _what_ bad behavior? All I did was fall out of a tree – erkkgh!"

Javert's eyebrows raised ever so slightly as Valjean lunged forward and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt. "On the _contrary_, your _bad behavior_ consisted of _stalking my daughter_ and then sitting _outside of our house_ in order to _listen_ to her _play piano_! _Invading_ our yard _in the process_!"

"He's right, you know," Javert said coldly. "What you've done is, in fact, trespassing on private property, in which case we have adequate cause to arrest you. Not to mention getting a restraining order."

"Precisely. Let's do that."

All remaining color drained from de Tourniquet's features. "NO! Do you _know_ what my father will do to me if he finds out I've been arrested? He'll – he'll – well, for _starters_, he'll revoke my allowance privileges! My _allowance_!"

Valjean said he couldn't give a hang about Louis de Tourniquet's allowance and was in the process of hauling him into the sitting-room and towards the front door by the collar of his no-doubt-expensive jacket when Cosette entered, bearing a luncheon tray.

Louis squeaked as Valjean dropped him, but that was the only sound he was able to emit before his face slammed into the hardwood floor and he passed out again.

"Cosette! Darling! Brilliant. How are you?"

"Father! What are you doing to that nice young man?" Valjean suddenly found himself holding the luncheon tray as Cosette fell to the floor by de Tourniquet's side and attempted to revive him. "Monsieur, monsieur! Wake up! Oh my word, he's bleeding!"

"I'll get a towel. In order to make sure that he doesn't stain up the floor," Javert said, strolling past and leaving Valjean to feel simultaneously resentful and guilty as Cosette fussed over the unconscious boy.

Fifteen minutes later, the mess was cleaned up and de Tourniquet was sitting on the sofa, his nose no longer bleeding but his voice sounding slightly nasal all the same as he confessed to Cosette that he had been dying to meet her for some time.

"Not only are you attractive," he gushed, which caused her to blush, "but when I dared to venture closer -" this made Valjean's hands clench into fists – "I was fortunate enough to hear your _astounding_ piano playing! Oh, it was the music of angels. Rarely have my ears been privy to such talent!"

Javert's expression suddenly went blank as Valjean looked confused and Cosette laughed nervously.

"Ah… sir, I fear you give me too much credit. I only recently started learning how to play the instrument, so -"

"Then you," he proclaimed dramatically, "are nothing more or less than a prodigy, mademoiselle."

"B-but I think you are mistaken!" she stammered. "I mean – I truly have not -"

"Mlle. Cosette," Javert interrupted smoothly, "perhaps your playing might be more convincing than words."

"Oh! Yes – yes." Standing up, she crossed the room to the piano and sat down. Glancing up at the music in front of her, she glanced at Javert, who nodded.

Slowly, haltingly, she began to play it, sometimes only with one hand. After about a minute, she stopped and got up.

"You see? I'm truly not very good. I'm simply a beginner."

Louis de Tourniquet looked confused and distressed. "But if that wasn't _you_ playing, then -"

"The piano playing to which you are referring was most likely that of my instructor, M. Javert," she answered. The fop looked shocked.

"You don't mean – but –"

"She means exactly what she says," Javert responded, walking over to the piano and running his fingers lightly over the keys; suddenly they flew into action, and he played what Cosette had just demonstrated, only his version was faster and infinitely better.

De Tourniquet looked like he might faint. "I – you – this cannot be!"

"It _is_," Javert said. "Now, monsieur, it is getting rather late, so may I show you to the door?"

Valjean stood abruptly. "Allow me."

He and de Tourniquet left the room, leaving Javert alone with Cosette. She smiled at him.

"I must thank you again for teaching me how to play the piano, M. Javert. I do hope to be as good as you are, some day."

He smiled briefly. "With enough practice, I assure you, you will -"

He was interrupted by a crash from outside. Looking out a window, he saw de Tourniquet tear down the walkway, leap the gate, and flee across the street, followed by a couple of yowling cats.

"Well. One would half expect to hear him laughing maniacally."

"Hear who laughing maniacally?" Cosette inquired sweetly from behind him.

He shrugged. "No one. Why don't we work on that song some more?"

~x^^X~

* * *

**A3:** For anyone who was left going "MARIUS!" last chapter… no. And I have several very good reasons for this!

**Enjolras:** Do tell, O Person Who Hath Strayed From The Realm Of Canon.

**A3:** Yeah yeah, shut it, revolution-brain.

**Enjolras:** I SHALL TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT.

**A3:** ANYWAY… the fop is NOT Marius because (A) this story is AU and (B) Cosette is NOT going to fall in love with him. And wouldn't it make you so much madder if de Tourniquet WAS Marius, but he and Cosette didn't get together? Yeah. That's what I thought.

Also, I like his name, because he's a useless fop (as will come to light eventually, if it has not done so already) and after taking a first-aid course this year, I have gained the knowledge that _tourniquets are absolutely useless_. Unless, you know, the victim's ARM is missing or something. Anyway, that's what THEY told me.

THIRDLY, I meant for this chapter to be longer. But even though it isn't, it was SERIOUSLY fun to write. Especially the interrogation scene. (Evil smirk)

**Enjolras:** Alright, you've been talking long enough! IT'S MY TURN NOW!

**A3:** Shush. You've never been keen on being a part of this anyway, and I have more to say. Now then, the NEXT chapter will feature Javert, as well as Vivaldi –

**Enjolras:** **_Do you hear the people sing! Singing the song of ANGRY MEN! It is the music of a PERSON who won't BE your SLAVE again!_**

**Erik:** (Gasp) Revising your own musical? DIE.

**A3:** ERIK, PUT THE PUNJAB AWAY!

**Erik:** But he – the music – HE HAD NO RIGHT –

**A3:** You. Shut up. Or I'll lock you in a room with "Caramelldansen" on surround-sound REPEAT.

**Erik:** (Trembles, faints)

**A3:** HA! That always does the trick. Incidentally, I love that song. Alright, Enjy-boy! It looks like it's just you and me again!

**Enjolras:** NO! IN THE NAME OF FRATERNITY, _WAKE UP_, MON AMI!

**A3:** Tch. (Puts hands on hips) I thought you hated the chap.

**Enjolras:** Anything's better than being stuck with an unrestrained YOU.

**A3:** Dude, you make it sound like I'm something that belongs in a zoo.

**Enjolras:** You BELONG in a high-security INSANE ASYLUM!

**A3:** Ohh. You know, that might explain those people in white coats that keep trying to find me.

**Enjolras:** Untie me, you fiend.

**A3:** No. Now, ask for reviews.

**Enjolras:** WHY?

**A3:** 'Cuz I SAID to. Duh.

**Enjolras:** What do I get if I comply to your demands?

**A3:** Nothing. Complying to my demands is your _job_.

**Enjolras:** I utterly loathe you.

**A3:** Really? Never would have guessed. Now, what do we say?

**Enjolras:** Review this story if you want to be part of a secret ninja task force whose sole purpose in existing is to rescue me from the clutches of this fiend!

**A3:** Nah, don't listen to that, just review, if you would kindly. But HEY, ninjas? That gives me an idea.

**Enjolras:** …What KIND of idea?

**A3:** A secret one. Now, our time's up! Say goodbye!

**Enjolras: **NO.

**A3:** Bratty little aristocrat.

**Enjolras:** (Turns red) WHY YOU LITTLE –


	6. Serious Talks and Too Many Cats

**Opening Authoressial Note:** Alright. After wasting lots of time surfing the 'Net, playing _NEW! Super Mario Bros._, and browsing LiveJournal in search of RP communities (THERE ARE VALJEAN AND JAVERT ROLEPLAYERS FFFFF WHAT, THAT IS AWESOME), I am BACK. With a chapter filled with DRAMUR and EXCITEMENTS that was finished at approximately 2 AM. Have fun. :D

In other news – my mom and I changed a tire on the car ALL BY OURSELVES. To show my dad that we could. :P Applaud us, do.

**Disclaimer:** WHAT DO YOU THINK (flail).

* * *

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

I slingshotted around a corner and tore down an unfamiliar street, my boots striking the cobblestones as fast and hard as I could manage. My heart was pounding in my chest beneath my shirt and overcoat, its rapid beating due more to panic and alarm than exertion.

I am not normally a person for panic, but at the moment I was being chased through a city I was not exceptionally familiar with by a man who was one of the best known and most brutal homicidal maniacs that the world had ever seen. I was also unarmed, and there was no one to whom I could turn for assistance.

I heard a clatter on a roof overhead and skidded to a halt, whirling to see slates fall to the ground but no one there. My fists clenched convulsively at my sides as I realized that running was doing me no good. Very well, then. I would make my stand here.

"Show yourself!"

~x^^x~

Before I go any further, perhaps I ought to narrate the events of that day that led up to the moments I have already spoken of. It would certainly make things less confusing.

Everything started two days after the appearance and subsequent departure of Monsieur Louis de Tourniquet. Cosette had stayed up late the last night reading and practicing piano, and the consequences were that she slept in that morning. Valjean thought it would be nice to surprise her by making breakfast for her, and as I had no objections to the idea, I was in the kitchen assisting him when someone knocked on the back door.

"Wait… the _back_ door?" Valjean said curiously, drying his hands with a towel. "That's odd."

Since I was closer to it, I walked across the kitchen and pulled the door open.

"_Bonjour, mon ami_!" Vivaldi greeted me enthusiastically. "I tried the front door, in case you were wondering, but no one answered, so I thought I'd trip around and try this one. And looky-la-de-da! My favorite person! May I come -"

I slammed the door firmly in his face and locked it.

"_Javert_!" Valjean yelped. "What are you doing? Who was that?"

"_That_," I said viciously, "was the man who is wanted in four different countries for the murders of fifty people. He is an extremely dangerous person and is _not_ supposed to know WHERE I LIVE."

Valjean paled a shade. "What? Then… what is he doing here?"

"Apparently," I grated through clenched teeth, "he wants to be _friends_ with me. At least, that's what I gather from the incessant attentions he pays my person."

"Does he know who you are?" Valjean asked incredulously.

"Yes," I said shortly. "I made absolutely certain he knew _exactly_ who I was."

"If you know that he's the culprit behind so many horrible crimes, why hasn't he been arrested yet?"

A wry smirk twisted my lips as I resumed helping him make breakfast. "There has never been a speck of solid evidence found to tie him to the crimes. Everything we have on him is circumstantial. In fact, the _only_ thing we have on him is that he was in the general area at the time of every single murder, and he's been seen several times _near_ the sites of the murders by witnesses. He's been brought in for questioning once or twice, but he's never had anything related to the crimes on his person – no blood or weapons or anything of the sort – and nothing related to _him_ has ever been found at the crime scenes. He's practically a ghost."

"That does seem curious," Valjean agreed, pouring a glass of orange juice. "Perhaps… a bit _too_ curious."

I cast him a sidelong glance at his thoughtful tone. "What do you mean?"

"Well… perhaps he isn't guilty. _Perhaps_," he continued intently as I choked on the grape I had just popped into my mouth, "he's being framed."

I pounded on my chest with a fist. "You – his side – _framed_ – ridicu – icu – kaaahn, _can't breathe_!"

"Javert?" He sprang to my side and struck me sharply between my shoulderblades with the heel of his hand. It took a couple of tries, but on about the third attempt he managed to dislodge the grape from my windpipe. "There. Feel better?"

"Mm," I nodded, disposing of the grape. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." We each returned to our respective tasks, working in silence for a few moments. Then I spoke.

"It doesn't make _sense_, though. The same person in the exact location every murder was committed, _every time_?"

"Perhaps someone else is committing the murders and using him as a cover and a scapegoat. It would certainly explain why you could never find any evidence on him apart from his proximity to the murders at the time of their execution."

"He's too flamboyant," I disagreed. "Scapegoats tend to be doormats, to be perfectly honest. I've seen my share, so I would know."

Valjean frowned. "Maybe he doesn't have a choice."

I helped him arrange a breakfast for one on a tray. "What do you mean? There's always a choice –"

"Not always, Javert." His expression had grown dark and distant. "I met all manner of men in my time at Toulon. And at least one of them was innocent. You have a memory for such things, so you will perhaps recall one Ambroise Chambert?"

"Fifteen years, attempted murder," I responded instantly, the name flashing to the front of my memory as I pulled it from my mental files. "What about him? The man wasn't innocent, there was evidence -"

"Planted," Valjean said quietly. "By himself. The actual culprit was his younger brother. Ambroise knew the police would catch him and couldn't bear the thought of his sibling in prison, so he paid off false witnesses and planted evidence that would lead the police to him rather than his brother."

I thought about this in silence for a time, aware that Valjean was watching me. After a long pause, I spoke again.

"What became of his brother?"

Valjean looked away. "Ambroise received word in prison that he had fallen in with the wrong crowd, and… that things had gone downhill from there."

I raised one eyebrow in something of an "I told you so" fashion. "M. Chambert should not have covered for his sibling. It taught the young man nothing except that he could get out of being punished for his criminal behavior. When he attempted it again without his brother present…" I shrugged. "The inevitable."

Valjean placed one hand on the countertop and looked at me with concern glittering in his eyes. "The edges to your personality are so harsh and cruel, even now. What happened to make you become like this, Javert?"

I shrugged. It was a jerky, sudden movement, and one to which I was not accustomed to making. "When I was young I made a choice. I chose to either prevent crime, or to commit it. Neither is a particularly forgiving path, Valjean, and both require one to dull the more delicate senses such as empathy and concern for one's fellow man. You will remember that you were hardly always your current 'kindly benefactor' self. At one point, something changed for you." My gaze hardened. "I did not happen to share the same fortune."

Valjean's eyes were practically pools of tangible melted empathy, but fortunately he was unable to voice a response before Cosette entered the kitchen, fully dressed and groomed but still looking a bit sleepy.

"Father, why didn't you come wake me? I didn't mean to sleep in."

"We were going to bring you a breakfast tray," Valjean explained to her, but he shot a cutting gaze at me that clearly said "this isn't over." I ignored it, beginning to put my own breakfast together while looking out the window to see if Vivaldi was gone.

He was.

The rest of the day would have been fairly uneventful, except for the _cats_. They were everywhere, more than I'd ever seen around the house before – and _in_ it, for that matter. They seemed to slip through even tiny cracks, sitting on the stairs and winding through Valjean's legs as he cleaned up the kitchen, pouncing on the piano keyboard and trying to sit on my lap as I read a book.

I shoved a gray tabby off my legs and stood abruptly, stalking into the kitchen, where Valjean was laughing at a calico's heroic attempts to trip him and make him drop the plate he was washing. "Haha! Lively little things, aren't they?"

"This is ridiculous," I informed him shortly. "I am going for a walk."

"Alright," he said amiably, but suddenly his expression turned to one of concern and he turned to face me. "Javert, this doesn't have anything to do with our earlier discussion, does it? Because -"

"No, Valjean, it doesn't. Have you seriously been worrying about that all day? _Don't_."

He caught his lower lip anxiously between his teeth for a moment before speaking again. "Just… promise me you'll come home."

My eyes closed briefly. "I do not deal with every emotional crisis in my life by jumping off of bridges, Valjean. I assure you I will return, and at a reasonable hour. You need not worry."

He held my gaze for a moment more before nodding and turning back to the plates, though I caught him mutter "But I do anyway" underneath his breath as I left the room.

I was hardly out the front door when the cats _trebled_ in number, all of them winding between my feet, pushing against my legs, and generally making it hard for me to progress. It took me five minutes just to get to the gate at the end of the walkway. As I reached out my hand to open it, a black-and-white cat with irregular spots yowled and launched himself at me from the top of the fence. I spun out of the way and burst through the gate, slamming it shut behind me – not that it stopped them.

"What is WRONG with you creatures?" I snarled as they chased me across the street, meowing and yowling incessantly.

"Me."

I spun around only to find Vivaldi hardly three inches away, his hands in his pants pockets and a flat sort of expression on his face that struck me as odd for him, despite the fairly short amount of time I'd known him.

"What?" I said unnecessarily.

"It's me. I'm what's wrong with them." As if to demonstrate, he took a tiny step forward, and all the cats shrank back. "It's probably best that you ignored me this morning, you know. I would hate to have had to do this in front of your friend."

I stared at him, every instinct in my body screaming at me that something was wrong – but I wasn't sure what. His tone of voice was as flat as his expression, and the scar on his face that he said wasn't a knife wound was prominent against his oddly pale skin.

"What are you talking abou -"

Suddenly, several of the cats shot forward from behind me and leapt at Vivaldi's face. He batted them away without even blinking.

"I would run, Inspector Javert." For an instant, something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone almost before I'd noticed it. "If I were you. Run and don't. _Ever_. Look back."

I am not a man to run from danger. If I can fight it, if I can stop it, I will. But that flickering something that had shown in his eyes for just half a second had been the Vivaldi that I had seen that morning, and that almost-nonexistent glimpse had told me that if I ever ran from a single thing in my life, this _needed_ to be it.

So I ran.

~x^^x~

And now we are back to where I started, my fists clenched at my sides and my voice demanding Vivaldi to show himself to me.

He stepped out from behind a building and approached me rapidly, his hair and coat fluttering in the air behind him and the fingers of his left hand drumming rapidly against his leg without pause. He stopped in front of me, about a yard away.

"You did something worse than look back." Drum, drum. "You stopped." As if to demonstrate, his fingers quit moving. He shrugged, a tiny, delicate motion. "Oh, well. Makes my job that much easier."

I tried to dodge as he lunged at me, but he seemed to have an almost superhuman speed and agility. Before I could move, before I could _blink_, he had me pinned against the wall of the building that he had appeared from behind, his right forearm against my throat and his left hand holding a small bottle filled with a fluorescent purple liquid. It sloshed thickly inside the bottle in a manner not befitting a proper liquid, and I knew as soon as I saw it that it was nothing good.

"Let me go. NOW!" I struggled against him violently, kicking and hitting, but he only pressed his forearm harder against my throat, making it harder for me to breathe and concentrate.

"Is this how they died?" I demanded as black spots began to swarm my vision, making it hard for me to see. "Is this how you killed any of those innocent people?"

He tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, uncorking the bottle with his thumb. "Killed, M. Javert? _Non_. I never killed anyone." The corners of his lips began to curl up. "_I only do whatever Madame wishes_."

I fought to stay conscious as he brought the bottle to my mouth, but the black spots were becoming less _spots_ and more widely spreading patches. In a last-ditch effort I tried to strike the bottle from his hand, and nearly succeeded – but _nearly_ was not good enough.

I slumped against the wall, my eyes fluttering shut, and my last vestiges of conscious thought ran along the lines of _oh # Valjean is going to think I went and offed myself HOW DO I PLAN TO EXPLAIN –_

_~x^^x~  
_

_

* * *

_**A3:** Yo. Don't be hatin' on Vivaldi yet, kids. He's not as bad as he seems.

**Enjolras:** Release me from your fiendish clutches, already!

**A3: **Not happening.

**Enjolras:** I need to go get something.

**A3:** Negative.

**Enjolras:** I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!

**A3:** Nope.

**Enjolras:** I'm allergic to rope?

**A3:** Nuh-uh.

**Enjolras:** Let me go NOW or I'll scream.

**A3:** You can't scream. Your voice is too deep and masculine for you to effectively scre –

**Enjolras:** (Lets out a shriek that shatters a nearby glass soda bottle)

**A3:** THAT WAS A COLLECTOR'S ITEM YOU – YOU – YOU BRUTE! And on a side note, ow. My eardrums.

**Enjolras:** _Les Amis d'ABC!_ ANSWER MY SIREN CALL!

**A3:** What… the… oh no. NUH-UH. NO WAY. This is NOT happening again.

**Courfeyrac:** (Pops up out of a nearby manhole) You rang, Oh Great Lead – OW.

**A3:** (Jams manhole lid down securely) I am so welding that shut. ERIK! WAKE UP! WE'RE BEING INVADED!

**Erik:** …Mmnguh? Christine… **_I am your Angel of Music_**…

**A3:** Ah, man. I am so dead.


	7. Unfortunate Furriness and An Escape

**Opening Authoressial Note:** (Edges in) Um hi there. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME. I am late. I have no excuse. Please don't throw rotten produce.

In other news, I was listening to the LM soundtrack in the kitchen the other day ("A Heart Full of Love" and the song that comes before it) and my mother was present, and she said it was "painful to listen to." Dear reader, I _goggled_, I tell you I positively GOGGLED. And flailed mentally, a bit. The girl who sings as Cosette is hardly HORRIBLE. I mean, she's really quite good. So, yes. (Flail) WHAT IS THIS MADNESS.

And as I wrote the last half of this chapter, I had my Kyo-kun bookmark in front of me… so for anyone who watches/reads _Fruits Basket_, that should be amusing. No one? No? Eheh, okay then. (Slinks off)

**Disclaimer:** Nope. AND THAT'S ALL YOU'RE GETTING OUT OF ME. So HA.

* * *

Slowly I drifted back into consciousness. My throat was throbbing from the pressure Vivaldi had placed on it, and with the pain came the memory of what had happened.

Needless to say, I was surprised to find that I was still alive.

I could taste the remnants of a grape-flavored substance inside my mouth. I made a face, not being particularly fond of grapes, and rolled over.

Or perhaps a better use of words would be to say that I rolled _off_. Of what, I'm not entirely sure, nor did I ever find out, because when I hit the floor on all fours and yowled in alarm, I was instantly aware that I had bigger problems.

Looking down, I failed to see a pair of blessedly human feet clad in immaculately polished black boots. Instead, I saw a pair of cat paws, covered in glossy black fur that was a bit longer than what is generally seen on cats.

I yowled again and attempted to shoot across the room, only to trip over my own feet, careen out of control, and crash into a bookcase, the contents of which promptly fell on top of me.

I _screamed_. In a distinctly frustrated, feline way.

The sound of a nearby door bursting open arrested my attention, and soon afterward the books were being cleared from the premises of my person. Before I could make good my escape, however, my savior had scooped me up with one hand and tucked me under his arm.

"There, there. Calm down, that's a good kitty. My, aren't you a pretty one."

Upon recognizing the voice as belonging to Vivaldi, I hissed and proceeded to struggle violently in his grasp. Nothing I did seemed to faze him, however, which was _more_ than irritating.

"Hush. I realize it's a disconcerting experience, but you're going to meet _her_ now, and such behavior will simply not be tolerated."

I pinned my newly expressive ears back against my head and made threatening noises. Vivaldi shushed me and pushed open a door.

"Madame… here he is."

He placed me on the floor of the room, which was windowless and not lit at all on my end. At the back, though, several candles were strategically placed to provide just enough light for dim visibility, yet not enough to keep the face of the woman seated in one of the elegant chairs from being cast in shadow.

"Come forward," she murmured, and her voice was soft and inviting. But having been in such a situation as this before – though admittedly _that_ time I hadn't been an animal – I resisted any urges to approach, instead seating myself firmly on the cold marble floor and hissing fiercely in her direction.

"Don't do that," Vivaldi whispered, and one of my ears snapped back into the customary upright position as I strained to recognize the tone in his voice. Was that… concern? No… fear, perhaps.

"Cat," said the woman, more firmly this time, "do _not_ toy with me. Come here."

I said something rude. Since it came out as a series of short, clipped mews, it was not discernible as being such except perhaps from the tone of my voice.

She sighed. "Inspector Javert, you _will_ approach me."

I started at her use of my name. Then I stood and began to pad soundlessly towards her, though not because of anything she had done. There was no use getting on the wrong side of this woman until I knew more about her. Preferably as much as she seemed to know about me.

"Good _boy_." Her tone of voice was degrading, all sickly-sweet and sappy. "There. Come up here." An elegantly manicured hand with long fingernails painted a polished, demure shade of blue tapped a small table by her chair. Upon reaching it, I contemplated it for a moment before gathering myself and _leaping_.

Underestimating the power of my new muscle structure, I overshot the table by quite a bit and flailed wildly in the air for a moment before Vivaldi, who had apparently followed me across the room, caught me and placed me gently down on the table. To let him know how things currently stood between us, I bit him on the hand. He withdrew it sharply, but with little more than a slight hiss of pain.

The woman laughed quietly. "It would seem that _le inspecteur_ is less than pleased with what you have done, Vivaldi," she told him lightly. "Perhaps you should make yourself scarce."

From what little I had seen of the man, I expected him to make some kind of uppity retort and remain where he was. But to my surprise, he bowed deeply and retreated with a barely audible and unnecessary apology.

"Now, Javert," she murmured, leaning forward, but not enough so that her facial features were clearly distinguishable. "You are doubtless wondering why I have chosen you."

I sat and glowered at her, my ears still pinned back and my tail swishing slowly and dangerously from side to – wait. _Tail?_

Of course I had a tail. I was a _cat_ now, after all. …But that didn't keep it from being disturbing.

"You see, Javert," she said, her voice now lilting and melodic, "that house you were living in? Is _my_ house. And despite the fact that I have been removed from it, and now live _here_, this is more a _prison_ than a _home_, as I stay here quite unwillingly."

_Good. You can just stay here, for all I care. You're dangerous. I can tell already._

"That isn't, of course, to say that I'm a _prisoner_ here," she purred, reaching out as if to stroke me on the head, then thinking better of it and withdrawing her hand. "But I'd rather not stay here any longer, all the same. And you are the final part of my plan to make my continued presence here thoroughly unnecessary."

Something in my brain clicked and told me that she was treating me with an awful lot of familiarity. Did I _know_ this woman? I lapsed into deep thought, hearing the tones of her melodic voice tinged with a hint of menace but comprehending none of the words.

After a brief period of time, I gave up for the moment and tuned back in to what she was saying, which chiefly seemed to be a lot of gloating.

"…and once you have remained with me for the allotted period of time, I will take what I need from you and then let you live out the rest of your life as one of the feline kind. I can't imagine it's such a bad existence. Perhaps some kind and loving family will take you in and care for you as one of their own. Or maybe if you insist on hanging around _my_ house like all the rest of those mewling nuisances, I'll kill you."

I snapped to attention suddenly, fixated on something she had said. "Mrrrow?"

"Hm? What is it?"

She had said something about the _allotted period of time_. What was that all about? And how was I supposed to tell her to repeat it when I couldn't TALK?

I hissed in irritation, more at myself than at her. Of course, she couldn't know that, and sighed, motioning tiredly with her hand.

"Vivaldi, come and take him away. I tire of his stubborn behavior."

Before I could react, I had been scooped up in a pair of long, slender arms. Vivaldi bowed to the woman, murmured a "thank you" that was, again, unnecessary, and turned to walk away.

As soon as we had emerged from the room (and I'm not sure why I even bothered to wait that long), I yowled and hissed and spat and generally did all manner of uncouth but very feline things in an effort to get him to release me. He reacted to none of my actions, even when I discovered that I had claws and opened a bloody furrow in the back of one of his hands.

"You can't," he said dully as we entered another room, and I paused, once again aware that there was something distinctly un-Vivaldi-ish about his behavior. "You can't escape, and you can't change it, so don't bother."

I stared at him, feline eyes wide, and mewed inquisitively.

He glanced at me. "There's no way out of this place unless _she_ permits it," he murmured in the same dull tone. "And you must stay here until, as she said, the allotted period of time has passed."

I frowned. That "allotted period of time" thing again. Clearly, they needed me to stay here for some reason. But what reason was that?

All of a sudden, an earsplittingly high-pitched whistle cut through the air. Vivaldi gave only the slightest of flinches, whereas I yowled in pain, trying to cover my ears.

"Ah. Madame wishes my presence. I must go, now," he said, nodding in my direction and heading for the door.

Well, that certainly explained why he had always looked away from me directly before informing me that he had to leave. He had probably been turning in the direction of that whistle.

…Wait a second. He was _leaving_. And the DOOR was OPEN.

Instantly I rocketed towards it, only to have his foot collide with me as I leapt for the gap. I hit the floor, winded and _furious_, but all he did was close the door, apologizing as he did so.

Apologies were NOT going to cut it. Resigned attitude be hanged, I was _getting_ out of this room.

I looked up. Far, far above my head, there was a window. It was a small window, and it had bars on it.

Still… don't they say cats can escape from anywhere?

~x^^x~

There was very little furniture in the room. A chair, a table, and that was it. I was determined to make good use of these, however.

My plan went thusly: I would jump to the back of the chair. From there, I would leap to the table, which was closest to the window, and I would use the momentum from my first jump to propel myself up the perfectly vertical wall to the window. Having determined that this was to be my plan of action, I took a moment to compose myself and then started moving.

The chair was hardly one of the large and cushy variety; rather, it was a simple kitchen chair, with a very thin back. Still, once I had hopped up onto the seat, I jumped onto the back anyway.

This turned out to be a bad idea.

My weight overbalanced the chair in one direction, and it promptly fell over, leaving me barely enough time to launch myself off of it and onto the table. I landed in an uncontrolled skid, but retained enough presence of mind to push fiercely off at the very last instant and dig my claws into the wall. This worked – for a few seconds. Then gravity kicked in, and I found myself sliding downward towards the floor, gouging claw marks in the wall as I went.

I yowled, a sound which, if I had been human, would have come out as a fierce "NO," and began to climb rapidly up the wall, using my claws as a type of crampons. It was touch-and-go for a few moments, and when I had _almost_ reached the window I very nearly fell all the way back to the floor, but I managed to catch myself and drag my feline body up onto the sill of the small, barred window.

I poked my head experimentally through the bars, decided that the fit wasn't too bad, and tried to pull back out, only to discover that while I could go forward, I apparently couldn't go _backwards_. Oh well; that was fine. I wanted to go forward, anyway.

The bars were a bit of a tight fit, but I could manage, with a bit of cautious squirming. I had cautiously squirmed my way halfway through when I heard the door open behind me.

"Inspector Javert, you – _NO_!" Feet pounded across the room as Vivaldi attempted to prevent my escape, but I had already wriggled the rest of the way through the bars. I heard him snarl and the door slam, and I knew he was coming to catch me.

Leaping down from the window (fortunately, the room was on the first floor), I tore across an immaculately trimmed lawn, exploded through a hedge (not a particularly pleasant experience), and leapt over a low wall into the street beyond. With my new hyper-sensitive hearing, I caught Vivaldi shouting my name, but there was _no_ way I was going to stop for him.

I whipped around corners and dodged pedestrians, taking the most winding route I could manage and not particularly caring _where_ I was going as long as it was far away from that house. It wasn't long before I found myself in what I recognized to be the center of Lille, the busiest part of the city.

I had to find somewhere to hide. For a little while, anyway. They would think to look for me back at 1463 Rue de Luce.

Still intent on the thought of losing any potential tails – NO pun intended whatsoever – I dove into the heavy flow of traffic that was clogging the street.

This turned out to be a bad idea.

I saw the moving carriage at the last second, from the corner of my eye. I heard the startled horse whinny, saw it rear up, and dodged one of its pinwheeling hooves only to get hit by the other. I think I made a noise – I'm not sure. Certainly pain exploded in my side, my chest, what felt like my entire _body_, and everything went white for more than a moment, and when I came back from what might have been unconsciousness I was lying in the middle of the street, barely breathing because it just _hurt so much_ to even _try_, and the carriage had stopped and there were people getting out of it.

"Poor thing. Stupid, though, to be running about in the street." The man sighed as he crouched over me. "Ah, well. I suppose the best thing to do is to put it out of its misery."

"No!" cried a voice, a _familiar_ voice, and I struggled to recognize it through the mind-searing _agony_. "No, don't shoot it! Let's at least _try_ to help it first!"

"Master Louis, it's a _cat_ that got _kicked_ by a _horse_. I'm afraid it's over for the little bloke."

Louis, Louis, who was Louis, _come on Javert THINK, just THINK. You've been in worse pain than this –_ Lies. That was a lie. I'd never been hurt this badly before.

Unbidden, my thoughts flashed to a time many years ago, with an old man – the _real_ M. Fauchelevent – trapped under a cart in the street, slowly being crushed to death, and all I could think was _I wonder if this is how he felt, no one deserves to feel pain like this, is this punishment? Am I being punished for something I did? Hurts so much, just END it already –_

"Master Louis, he's crying. Listen to him." I hadn't even registered the mewling noises issuing from my throat. "He's got to be in pain. I promise it will be quick."

I tried to move, and everything went white again. Almost instantly, it turned to merciful black, leaving the last thing I heard to be the clicking sound of a pistol being set to fire.

* * *

**A3:** So before you guys murder me for being 2 weeks late with the update and then leaving you with such a horrible cliffhanger, I think you should know that I didn't forget about this story. In fact, I have been battling heroically with the PLOT of this thing. Trying to figure it out – motives and all that, you know. Strange ladies in abandoned houses don't just go around turning people into cats because they CAN.

**Enjolras:** Oh really?

**A3:** Yes, really. And I see you trying to pick your chain lock. Give me that bobby pin.

**Enjolras:** NO! NEVER! I found this bobby pin on the floor! ME! You know what that means? FINDERS KEEPERS!

**A3:** …Seriously? What are you, eight?

**Enjolras:** (Hiss) MINE.

**A3:** Yeah, well, whatever. Erik took it away from you while you were distracted, anyway.

**Enjolras:** WHAT? I – GIVE THAT BACK!

**Erik:** Not a chance. Julian and I can't keep an eye on you and weld every single entrance and exit shut at the same time.

**Enjolras:** …That's a fire hazard if I ever heard of one.

**A3:** Yeah, well, I'm not ready for your BUDDIES to show up yet, and you forget that I'm the Authoress. If a crisis does occur, I can just… beam us all out of here, or something.

**Enjolras:** See, that "or something" part just BOTHERS me.

**A3:** You. Shut up. No, on second thought, say something amusing for the sake of the readers. Better yet, just ask for reviews.

**Enjolras:** (Crosses arms) No. I shan't. It wouldn't do for my brave followers and friends to make their triumphant entrance, only to find that I am bent to your will and acquiescing to your every request.

**A3:** (Sweetly) Would it _do_ for your followers and friends to make their not-quite-so-triumphant entrance to find you dangling precariously over a pit of lava that just _happened_ to materialize in the floor beneath you?

**Enjolras:** ...You're… mentally unhinged.

**A3:** Hinges are for doors, dear. Now be sure to ask them nicely not to hate me.

**Enjolras:** (Squeak) Reviews – please – um – scary girl – girls are scary anyway, but THIS ONE –

**Erik:** (Absent-mindedly) She's been watching music videos for _9_, she'll be like this for a bit. Just keep her away from any sharp things and stuff like chainsaws and garrotes and she'll be fine.

**A3:** Heh heh. _9_ was a creepy movie. (Sneaks off)

**Enjolras:** SOMEONE SAVE ME. Ow!

**Erik:** Say that other thing she asked you to say and I won't throw another crowbar at you.

**Enjolras:** DIDN'T YOUR MOTHER EVER TELL YOU NOT TO THROW um okay that look in your eye is terrifying so um PLEASE DON'T HATE THE AUTHORESS, ALL YOU LOVELY PEOPLE… it's not her fault… okay, it IS her fault.

**A3:** (Pokes head back in) But in my defense, deadlines make a lovely _whooshing_ sound as they fly past. There's also a cool breeze, and the occasional drizzle of Skittles.

**Julian:** (From across the room) PRETTY sure Douglas Adams didn't say THAT. Explain to me why we have a manhole INDOORS?

**A3:** 'Cuz it's cool, Elf of mine. Now, you lot need to shut up so I can go write the next chapter. If we're lucky, it will rain reviews and the Amis will get papercuts and go away.


	8. Incoherent Moments and Another Escape

**Opening Authoressial Note:** I'm sick. It's miserable. AIRBORNE WHY HAVE YOU FAILED ME T.T Anyway, I'll respond to reviews and notes tomorrow, assuming it hasn't gotten worse, so hang tight, guys. :D

**Disclaimers:** It all belongs to total strangers… except for the plot. And Monsieur Louis de Tourniquet, who belongs to me, which makes me happy because that means I can torment him all I want.

* * *

**.-.Javert's POV.-.**

My eyes fluttered open and I stared blankly off into the middle distance, wondering vaguely why everything seemed to be rather monochrome in color.

Then my brain tuned in to the fact that I was awake, and suddenly thoughts and memories were flooding my mind. But out of everything that had happened to me in the past 24 hours, one thing stood out clearly.

I was a cat.

Earlier, I had not had time to digest and therefore be properly traumatized by this fact, but now that I was wide-awake, thinking clearly, and in no immediate danger, it hit me with full force.

_I was a CAT._

I realized that at some point I had begun hyperventilating, and attempted to calm down. But with my brain still working at 90 miles per hour and my thoughts getting more panicky by the second, the attempt failed rather brilliantly.

I. WAS. A. _**CAT**_.

I yowled in panic and tried to leap to my feet, but quickly abandoned all thoughts of movement at the PAIN. As I lay on my side, trying to control my breathing and regulate the throbbing in my side, I recalled that I had been kicked – or perhaps a better term was _stomped upon_ – by a horse. And it had hurt, it had hurt a _lot_, and the last thing I remembered was someone being about to put me out of my misery.

_Why didn't they_, I wondered as I slowly calmed down. Obviously, someone must have saved me. But – wait a second. That boy. The boy with the extremely familiar name.

Before I could gather my thoughts any further, the door to whatever room I was in swung open and a young man - THE young man - walked in.

"_Bonjour, le chat_!" Louis de Tourniquet greeted me, walking over to the pet bed I was lying in and rubbing my ears. "How do you feel? Better? You were in a great deal of pain earlier. We got you to an animal doctor, though, and it doesn't seem to be as bad as we thought it might be at first. You were crying a lot, though. I guess animals must have a lower pain tolerance threshold than humans, huh?"

EXCUSE ME. I had a VERY high pain tolerance threshold, _thank_ you very much. It simply wasn't every day that one got turned into one of their most disliked animals and then attacked by a member of the equine breed. That was bound to be painful for anyone.

"So, _chat_, you're mine now. I guess I ought to name you – what is it?" I had pinned my ears back against my head and was hissing at him. HIS? I was no such thing. I was Inspector Javert of the French Police, I _belonged_ to _no one_, and – wow.

Oh.

WOW.

Whatever he was doing with his _hands_ to my _back_ felt AMAZING. My will to defy him disappeared entirely as his fingers dug into my fur and my whole world centered on that _one spot_ and _nyaaarrhh_ WAS THIS WHAT IT FELT LIKE WHEN YOUR BRAIN EXPLODED. In a good way.

The fop-child chuckled. "Aww, poor kitty. You haven't been petted like this in a long time, have you?" No, incidentally, I'd never been petted before in my _life_, which was probably why I was currently melting into figurative putty in his hands. "I'll pet you as much as you want now, don't worry. I've always wanted a pet of my own, but I've never asked Mother and Father for one. But now that I've saved you, I suppose I can keep you!"

As his hands had let up, I was able to think clearly and in coherent sentences once again. _Hah. That's what YOU think_.

Since he couldn't read my thoughts, he was still off in his own world. "Well, if you _are_ to be my cat, I can't keep calling you simply _le chat_. Hmm. What's a good name for you...?"

~x^^x~

**.-.3rd-Person POV.-.**

"Look! It's M. Louis de Tourniquet. Isn't he handsome as always?"

"Indeed. I wouldn't swoon over him too much, though. I hear he's got some girl he's interested in."

"Really? That's new – oh, what's that precious thing he's got with him?"

"A cat. You know, I heard he saved it! I guess it ran out into the road and startled the horse that was drawing his cab, or something. His valet wanted to shoot it – I guess the poor dear was in pretty bad shape – but M. de Tourniquet talked him out of it. He took the creature to an animal hospital, got its wounds tended to, and, well, there it is."

The small group of young women watched the aristocrat as he crossed the street, a sleek black cat in his arms. The cat had a white streak going from its nose across its left eye and up its ear, like a scar, and a distinctly put-out look stamped upon its features.

"It doesn't look too pleased," one of the women observed.

"Oh, well, it's probably just unused to the luxurious treatment it's no doubt receiving. I mean, it was probably a street cat. Imagine going from sleeping under carts and eating rats one day, to sleeping on a silk pillow and eating caviar the next."

"Mm. I can see how that would be a big change for it."

"Perhaps a bit traumatizing as well. Come, shall we go try to make friends with the both of them? The young Lord of Lille and his cat."

"Oh, yes. Let's."

Javert knew he wasn't supposed to be walking about, yet, but that didn't make the fact that the fop-child was carrying him about _everywhere_ any less humiliating. Though, to be perfectly honest, what he was most irritated about was –

"Hey, Prince! What's wrong? Is your collar too tight, hmn?"

– his new name.

He was trying to wriggle out of the fop's grasp when the women appeared. It seemed like they came out of nowhere – one minute he was slipping away through the crowd, the next one of them – the one that smelled like strawberries and cream – was scooping him up off the sidewalk and rubbing their faces together. Javert was instantly rendered unable to resist due to the fact that he had frozen from trauma, never having been in such close contact with a member of the female gender before.

"_Bonjour_, mademoiselles," de Tourniquet greeted the ladies politely. "I see you've caught my cat! Thank you so much."

"He's so cute," murmured the young woman petting Javert at the moment. "Does he have a name?"

"Indeed! I call him Prince. He seems like a _noble_ sort of cat, wouldn't you agree?" Tittering went around at the bad joke.

"Why yes, he does," another of the ladies agreed. "He certainly has a regal, withdrawn sort of air about him, doesn't he?"

Javert zoned out, the inane chatter going over his head as he tried to think. His thoughts dwelt mostly on Vivaldi's reaction at his escape, at the meaning behind those enigmatic words _allotted period of time_.

The best explanation he could come up with was that they wanted to hold him in their own facility for a short time in order to keep him from turning back into a human. This must mean that there _was_ a way he could turn back; he just had to find it.

That was going to be hard if the fop-child kept gushing over him like he had been _continually_ for the past, oh, week or so. As soon as he was completely healed, Javert was getting OUT of there. And sooner, rather than later.

He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as a pair of lips was pressed firmly to the top of his head.

"Aww, isn't he ADORABLE! The little thing is – oh! My goodness!"

If a cat could scream, Javert just had. The women backed away and Louis de Tourniquet yelped in pain and surprise as the feline inspector clawed the back of his hand open, making the fop-child yelp and drop the cat.

Javert took off through the crowd, hissing and maneuvering swiftly around pedestrians, ignoring de Tourniquet's cries of "Prince! Come back!" from behind him.

_Sorry, fop-face – well, not really. I have a cure to find, and I'm not sure how long I have to find it in._

_

* * *

_**A3:** That's not the end of de Tourniquet, nevah fear. But anyway... It's short, it's pointless, it moves kind of fast, and you'll have to forgive me for it. Why? 'Cuz I'm sick. The old brain-case doesn't work well in a fever. You get to hallucinating about… noodles and things.

**Erik:** (Muffled) Noodles?

**A3:** Yes. Very, _very_ strange pasta dreams. Now hush, I have something to sa – aayyy… why are you still wearing that welding mask?

**Erik:** I can't find my real one and this works just as well.

**A3:** Um. Okay, man, whatever makes you and your sunburn happy –

**Erik:** IT'S A HORRIBLE DISFIGUREMENT.

**Enjolras:** Really? May I see it?

**Erik:** Not unless you want to meet a terribly unpleasant end.

**Enjolras:** But I have a friend who's a doctor – well, a doctor-in-training – he might be able to help –

**A3:** EVERYONE SHUT UP! For once, I have something of IMPORT to say here and I'd APPRECIATE it if you'd all LET ME SPEAK!

**All:** (Crickets)

**A3:** THANK you. Now then. I have this idea for a fanfiction –

**Julian:** Eh? But what about this one – er. 'Kay. Am shutting up.

**A3:** …(Groan) You know what, never mind. Suffice to say that the next chapter will be better, might have some Vivaldi, and… I haven't gotten that far yet. ANYWAY, I just wanted to get this one up sooner than the last one, so please don't hate me if you think it's horrid. And guys – you forgot about the skylight.

**Erik:** Skylight? What skylight? We haven't got a –

**Skylight:** (SHATTERS INTO A MILLION PIECES)

**Courfeyrac:** (Rappels down a line and lands in the room below) O Great and Glorious Leader! We've come to rescue you! Here! A set of keys for the chains that bind you!

**A3:** (Grabs them as they fly through the air) I don't even WANNA know how you got these. And I wouldn't try anything funny if I were you guys. It's a bunch of French students against a homicidal man in a welding mask, an Elf with a lightsaber, and a 17-year-old with supernatural powers and a cold.

**Joly:** AGH A COLD SHE'S CONTAGIOOOOUUUSSSS (flees)

**Erik:** (Lassos him) Surrender now or she sneezes on this guy.

**Joly:** (Shrieks and faints)

**Combeferre:** Hm. Well, we seem to be at something of a standstill.

**A3:** Indeed. Do you give up?

**Courfeyrac:** NEVER! This is our main chick magnet, you know. The whole revolutionary gig. If they were to find out that we'd GIVEN UP on a rescue mission to assist our beloved leader, why, they'd be SHOCKED! We'd never get dates again!

**A3:** Bet you they wouldn't.

**Bahorel:** Oh yeah? HOW MUCH?

**Erik:** This is madness. Or Sparta. Or both.

**A3:** AGH. I can't deal with this right now. I'm going to bed. Hang tight, you lot, I'll be back in the morning. (Disappears)

**Erik:** WHAT? But –

**Combeferre:** (Reasonable voice) Well, I suppose there's nothing to do but to hang out until she reappears. We lost the keys anyway, there's nothing we can really do.

**Enjolras:** WHAT? What do you MEAN, "nothing you can really do"? ATTACK THEM!

**Combeferre:** Now, Enjolras, it wouldn't be _sporting_. Attacking the enemy in the absence of their leader, tch. I thought better of you.

**Enjolras:** SHE'S NOT A LEADER! SHE'S A SADISTIC ESCAPEE FROM A LUNATIC mmph!

**Erik:** I love gags. I really do.

**Julian:** Ah, Erik, I think you stuffed it too far into his mouth. In fact, I kinda think he's choking on it –

**Erik:** Nah, don't worry about it. He's just being melodramatic.

**Courfeyrac:** Really? (Peers) He's kinda turning blue.

**Erik:** He'll. Be. FINE. (Snaps Punjab lasso) Now go to sleep.

**Jehan:** But we're not even ti –

**Erik:** This EAN is way too long already. I SAID GO TO SLEEP.

**Jehan:** I'm going! I'M GOING! DON'T HURT ME!


	9. Street Brats and Cuddle Times

**Opening Authoressial Note:** LATE CHAPTER IS LATE. The EANs explain my reasons in detail. (Winning smile)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own LM, Skittles, the Indiana Jones franchise, or the Andes mountains. …Wait, that last one's not copyrighted. BUT I DON'T OWN THEM ANYWAY. I mean, it would be cool if I DID, having my own mountain range and all, but… no.

* * *

As it turned out, running away from comfort and medical care when you're still partially injured is a bad idea.

A _very_ bad idea.

You see, when you're a cat – and you're not _accustomed_ to being a cat – not to mention the fact that you're an _injured_ cat – it's a great deal harder to escape from the street rats that want to torture and kill you for no apparent reason.

Though actually, it wasn't too great of a leap of logic to come to the conclusion that they probably wanted to have me for supper.

"Heeeeere, kitty kiiiiitty," singsonged one of them, waving a thoroughly loathsome-looking fish skeleton in my direction. Even if I had been hungry enough to fall for that, the fact that he was holding a rather sizable rock in his other hand was quite enough to deter me from going for the bait.

"Kitty-cat's a scaredy-cat," hissed his partner, who didn't seem to be capable of even _acting_ amiable. "Silly kitty, don't be worried! We won't _hurt_ you."

No, of course you wouldn't. And I didn't actually belong in a human body, either.

"MMMREEEEOOWW!" I made my displeasure known as clearly as I could, my ears pressed flat back against my head and my fangs bared.

"Oh, I'm fed up with this." The supposedly "nice" one hefted the rock and hurled it at me.

I shot forward as he threw it, the rock soaring harmlessly overhead as I dodged between their legs and into the street beyond. I expected them to follow me, but not for very long – after all, I had four legs and they only had two each. That was _one_ benefit to being a feline – though, if I wasn't a cat, I wouldn't have been in this situation in the _first_ place.

I probably would have lost them fairly soon if I hadn't run down a dead-end alley. There were a few abandoned crates piled up at the far end, however, and I fully intended to jump on these and up out of the alley. Unfortunately, my injuries chose that most inopportune moment to act up, causing me to trip and go tumbling forward a short distance until I finally came to a halt. I scrambled to my feet, albeit painfully, but by this time my opponents were upon me.

Before I could do anything, the less-nice one had grabbed me by the throat and pulled me up off the ground. "Hold still, kitty. If you move, you might hurt yourself." He flashed me a none-too-friendly grin as he began to tighten his grip.

"What are you doing to that cat? _Stop it this instant_!"

I was dropped abruptly and without ceremony to the ground as the two _gamins_ fled the scene. Sitting up, I shook my head in an attempt to clear it of the fog that tends to gather when one is very nearly squeezed into a state of unconsciousness. After this had been accomplished, I stood up, only to fall over again.

For a moment I seethed in irritation at my lightheaded state, but a moment was all I had before my rescuer suddenly fell upon me, scooping me up into his arms and holding me gently against his chest.

"It's alright, _chat_. I'm going to take you home with me. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

I felt insulted. I was not _afraid_. Who was this man? My head was still foggy, so I couldn't recognize him, but he sounded vaguely familiar…

"There are a lot of cats where I live, so you should be right at home. I think perhaps I ought to take you to visit the veterinarian first, though. You're pretty roughed up. Hmm? How does that sound?"

It sounded pretty good. Combined with the soothing tones of his voice, the rumbling in his chest, and the warmth of his arms, the fast pace of the last few days was catching up to me, and even as I told myself I needed to stay awake, I did the opposite and fell asleep.

~x^^x~

When I awoke, it was with a much clearer head and a distinct impression of horror that I had permitted myself to be so lax as to be lulled into a state of relaxation, much less one of _slumber_, by the comfort which I had been offered. Getting up – rather stiffly – I stepped forward and fell off of a chair onto a floor.

A _familiar_ floor.

Regaining my balance and dignity, I sat up and looked at my surroundings. Chairs, a good deal of bookshelves, pleasant mahogany wall paneling, and a - _piano_?

My eyes widened as realization dawned. _No. NO. Please, no, anyone but him, ANYTHING but THIS, don't make me go through this sort of humiliation AGAIN, I can't – I won't –_

"Well, hello there! You're awake earlier than I imagined you'd be!" Without warning and before I could react, Valjean picked me up from behind. "I bet you're hungry! I've got some nice leftover fish for you in the other room. Come on."

I yowled in protest, but he seemed alarmingly well-informed regarding the dangers of the claws of agitated cats, and my paws were kept pressed close to my body, rendering me incapable of causing him any physical damage.

We entered the kitchen, and he set me down in front of a plate of fish and a bowl of water that he had placed on the floor. "Go at it, then. You look like you need all the food you can get."

My pride insisted that I resist the temptation and refuse to take anything from the man. This was indignity in the extreme. At least in the form of a child, I had been able to intelligibly vocalize my dislike for being picked up and… _cuddled_. But Valjean didn't seem to get that angry yowls and struggling from a cat translated in the most basic of terms as "DO NOT WANT."

…On the other hand, I _was_ starving.

Valjean crouched down next to me. "What's wrong? It's okay. See?" He picked up a small piece and offered it to me. I regarded the fish and his hand with distaste, then gave him my best cold and disapproving stare before proceeding to ignore the offered piece and eat quietly and delicately from the plate. He sighed, sounding sad, and put the fish piece back on the plate before standing up to go wash his hands.

Half an hour later I was full, rested, and lying in a patch of sunlight on the kitchen table. Cosette did not seem to be in, and I was just wondering at the uncharacteristicness of Valjean letting her go out by herself when the back door swung open and she came inside, flushed and smiling and stripping off a pair of dirty gardening gloves.

"Good afternoon, Father! I've gotten a good deal of the garden weeded – oh, who's this?" She swept forward to inspect me. Sitting up, I tried to look benign. I didn't particularly care to be petted or coddled, but that was no excuse for not being polite. "Aww, isn't he so sweet. Is he from around here?"

"No, I don't think so. I found him while I was out this morning. Two boys were bullying him in an alley and I rescued him. I had to take him to the vet, he was in such bad shape. I thought we could take care of him until he felt better."

Cosette nodded, running a hand across my head and tickling the backs of my ears. After a moment of silence, she murmured,

"Look at how black and glossy his fur is, and how he sits up so straight. He reminds me a little of M. Javert."

With my heightened senses, I was able to hear the tiny, agonized sound that escaped Valjean's throat at the mention of my name, a sound that was stifled before it reached the humanly perceptible range and replaced with a slightly strained "Indeed." One of my ears twitched, violently and of its own accord. Of course Valjean would be upset. He probably thought I had run away, if not worse.

Before I could dwell upon this any further, however, I was enlightened as to yet another danger of being a fairly dignified gentleman in a feline body. Cosette swept me up off the table and hugged me to her chest, planting a none-too-reticent kiss on top of my head as her finger rubbed my chin.

"Oh, Father, he's so sweet. Do you think I could get him to sleep with me tonight?"

"_**MMRRREEEOOOWW! NYYRRAHHH!**_"

Valjean stared at me. "Cosette, are you sure you're not holding the poor thing too tightly? He is injured, you know."

HA. Not as injured as I would be if Valjean found out that this "cute little cat" was a grown man, not to mention one he entrusted with his daughter's safety and dignity.

She deposited me on the table, and as I put a good deal of distance between her and myself, Valjean murmured thoughtfully,

"Well, I think if you took him into your room and closed the door, eventually he might get cold and climb into your bed with you. It's worth a try."

Cosette smiled beatifically at him. Meanwhile, I was coming to the rather horrified realization that the most likely reason cats are so good at disappearing and not being found until they want to be, is because of people like the two love-sponges in my immediate presence.

Bedtime, I decided most firmly, would find me safely (hopefully) ensconced in the pantry. They'd never think to look for me there.

* * *

**A3:** I wouldn't be so sure, kitty-boy. Ahem. Anyway. THE LAST TIME I UPDATED WAS ALMOST A MONTH AGO AND I AM REALLY SORRY. This story was abducted by ninjas and hidden in a labyrinth in the Andes. I've been off retrieving it with the assistance of Indiana Jones. On the way, I had plenty of time to think about the plot of the story, and I think I know where it's going now! But, if it turns out I really don't… OH WELL. I'll just keep writing and SOMETHING will happen.

**Erik:** You realize you've left us alone with THESE MANIACS all this time! (Gestures wildly in the direction of the Amis)

**A3:** Yes, what of it?

**Erik:** I no longer care for poetry.

**A3:** (Gasp) JEHAN! You didn't!

**Julian:** Don't worry, I've been able to keep them apart for the most part. The big problem has chiefly been that he keeps somehow getting himself roped into poker games with Courfeyrac.

**Erik:** Who CHEATS.

**Courfeyrac:** (GRIN) Don't be ridiculous. Now remember, you owe me an organ. I'm not sure where I'll put it, but I'll find a place somewhere.

**Enjolras:** I HATE YOU ALL.

**A3:** How very un-trusted-leader-like of you, Enjy. Why do you suddenly loathe your beloved _amis_?

**Enjolras:** (Rage) They have done NOTHING to free me! NOTHING! In all TWENTY-SEVEN days of your absence, all they have done is tell me to be patient, REBUKE me for being (furious airquotes) "UNSPORTSMANLIKE," and _PLAYED POKER_!

**Courfeyrac:** Oh, just chill, will ya? Now that she's here, we can kick her butt.

**A3:** OH YEAH? Well… I know something YOU don't know!

**Combeferre:** (Hopefully) The location of the keys?

**A3:** NO! The unofficial, incredibly varying time limit for the EANs! Quick, someone ask for reviews! We've only got ten seconds!

**Enjolras:** HEY! Since when -?

**Combeferre:** I'm a diplomatic person, I'll do this. (Turns to reviewers) Please do drop a note telling us your opinion of the chapter. Although it was admittedly short, the Authoress is starting school tomorrow and was up late writing said chapter, so there was something of a time constraint involved. I ask you to please be kind in any references you may make to the lateness of the chapter, keeping in mind that labyrinths in the Andes mountains are especially heinous at this time of year. Thank you very much for your time and consideration.

**All:** (Silence)

**Enjolras:** THAT WAS TOTALLY LONGER THAN TEN MMMPPHGH

**A3:** 'Ferre, you are marvelous. Enjolras, shut up and eat your Skittles.


	10. Early Mornings and Talking Cats

**Opening Authoressial Note:** Short chapter, long EAN. And because I'm mean, there's a cliffhanger. But you guys love me anyway, right? :D

**Disclaimer:** If I was rich enough to own anything like it, I'd be gloating instead of writing fanfiction. Except not really, because gloating is rude and writing fanfic is seriously fun.

* * *

I made good my escape from Cosette's room at approximately 3 AM, having staunchly refused to sleep in her bed. Once the door was clawed open and I was safely situated in the hallway beyond, I sat for a moment in quiet contemplation.

Cosette was obviously worried about me. She had stopped by my room before going to bed and issued a murmured prayer for my safety and timely return home. I felt slightly guilty for causing her to worry, until I recalled that my "disappearance" _wasn't my fault_. Feeling better, I made my escape to the pantry, where my plans to hide out there were foiled by a doorknob and an outward-opening door, both of which were things that cats were not equipped to deal with. Valjean found me wrestling determinedly with said doorknob, and gave me a bowl of warm milk to placate my apparent appetite before delivering me into the clutches of his well-meaning adopted daughter.

As I sat out in the hall, mulling the day's events over in my mind, footsteps from inside the room I had just vacated alerted me to the fact that Cosette was awake, out of bed, and had likely discovered my absence. I scampered further down the hall, into the protection of other shadows, as her bedroom door swung open and she stepped out into the area that I had just vacated.

"Kitty? Here, kitty. Where did you go?" Her bare feet made no sound on the floor as she padded to, and then down, the staircase. I followed, more out of curiosity than anything else.

We were both surprised to find Valjean in the kitchen, morosely sipping tea while petting the ears of a reddish-brown cat that he had apparently let in from outdoors. I hung back, hesitant to enter the room and be discovered, but Cosette moved forward without pausing.

"Hello, Father." He started at her unexpected presence, but before he could move any further, her arms were wrapped loosely about his shoulders as she embraced him from behind, effectively keeping him in his seat.

"Cosette," he murmured, smiling indulgently even as his brow furrowed in concern. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same question," she laughed gently. "But I'm afraid I already know the answer."

Valjean sighed and slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. Presumably resentful at the lack of attention it was suddenly receiving, the cat leapt off the table and came to join me in the doorway.

"I didn't want to worry you, but if you… if you already know…"

"Know what? That you don't know where M. Javert is, and you're very worried about him? It's been rather obvious, Father. You don't generally dry the dishes with your cravat."

Valjean emitted a sharp, startled laugh that turned into a strangled sob halfway through. Her maternal instincts immediately aroused, Cosette pressed her lips to the top of his head and then began to stroke his hair while speaking in her most soothing voice.

"There, there. It's alright. He's _fine_, Father. Don't worry yourself so. I'm sure he'll be home soon…"

Feeling like I was intruding, I retreated to the sitting room and perched on top of the piano, my tail swishing from side to side as I looked out of the window at the moonlit yard. The reddish-brown cat joined me, and for a time we sat together in complacent silence.

I was buried in thought when my companion mewed softly. _Hello_.

_He –_ I returned, before whipping around to stare at it, losing my balance, and falling off the top of the piano onto the keyboard. A painful jangle of dischordant sound ensued, and my fellow feline winced and made a trilling sound at the back of his throat.

_Jeepers, wake up the whole neighborhood why doncha_.

I made a sound distinctly similar to "ashfdjkkghjldh" and the cat's ear flickered.

_Nice, bro. Well, I guess I'll have to be coherent for the both of us then. My name's Raymond_. His eyes narrowed as he stared at me thoughtfully. _You look like a… James. What ho, James!_

I fell the rest of the way off the piano.

* * *

**A3:** (1) Yes, my Valjean is a crybaby with (apparently) abandonment issues. But hey, so was the one in the book, so it's all good.

(2) DRAT YOU, RAYMOND, HOW DARE YOU POP UP AND DEMAND A PART. You weren't PLANNED for, you big bully (sob). Go away.

(3) Finally, and most importantly, I am going to be working at the state fair for the next 3 weeks. This means I will be working up to 15-hour days, which means little to no time to write. (All spare time will be spent eating, drinking, and sleeping.)

Okay, now the rest of you can talk.

**Erik:** I could kill Raymond for you if you like. (Snaps Punjab)

**A3:** …Your homicidal urges are acting up again. Are you suffering from chocolate withdrawal?

**Erik:** Grrr.

**A3:** That's an affirmative. Here. Have a candy bar.

**Enjolras:** SUGARSUGARSUGAR! (Lunges against the chains)

**A3:** WHOA. What's gotten into you?

**Combeferre:** (Pulls out calculator) I have done numerous calculations, and it would seem that massive consumption of colored food articles high in sugar content, combined with his relative inactivity that is a direct consequence of being chained up, has resulted in what is known in modern-day terminology as a "sugar high."

**Enjolras:** Wearethe_LesAmisd'ABC_! WEWILLNEVERGIVEINTOYOUR _oh look something swishy_! (Dives for Erik's cape, falls short) I SMELL SUGAR LEMME AT IT.

**A3:** …Wow, this is kind of awesome.

**Erik:** HOW?

**A3:** No, seriously, I'm not kidding. Here, give me that laser pointer.

**Erik:** Okay… (hands it over)

**Courfeyrac:** Hey, all you wonderful reviewers out there! And readers! I know there are some of you reading but not reviewing. I KNOW YOU EXIST. And I demand at least ONE of you review. C'mon. YOU CAN DO IT. As for the rest of you, even though the Authoress won't be updating for a while, review anyway, pretty please? It would really be awesome.

**A3:** Lookie there, Enjy! Do you see it? Do you see the red dot? There it is on the wall! Oops, now it's on the floor! Now it's on your forehead!

**Enjolras:** (FLAIL) _WHY WON'T IT HOLD STILL_?

**A3:** Look! It's on your shoe! Can you get it?

**Enjolras:** YAY! (Pounces) SQUEE! No, wait! IT WENT THROUGH MY HAND! OH MY WORD, I'M TRANSPARENT!

**Erik:** Um, I think you ought to cut that out before he faints or something.

**A3:** But it's so much FUN!

**Jehan:** (Walks in) Hey, guys! What's up? Ooh, look, a flickering red light! It's like a butterfly! (Chases it)

**Enjolras:** (SNARL) MINE.

**Jehan:** (Screams and flees to cower behind Erik)

**Erik:** WHY ME?

**A3:** Because you're awesome. Look, Enjy, it's on your nose! Ooh, now it's on your hand!

**Enjolras:** MAKE IT STOP!

**A3:** No. Hey, Enjy, guess what's good with Skittles? SODA.

**Erik:** (Facepalm) No. Oh no.

**Combeferre:** (Pops open a can) OH MY GOSH! IT GOES FIZZ-FIZZ!

**All:** (Stare)

**A3:** Well, that was out of character. And the reason WHY it goes fizz-fizz, 'Ferre dear, is because of this marvelous thing called CARBONATION.

**Combeferre:** (Swigs cola) HOLY REVOLUTION this is amazing. TELL ME MORE.

**A3:** Later. It's high time we ended this EAN. Bye, guys! (Waves) Wish me luck! Miss me!

**Combeferre:** (Reading can) Pepsi. Is that American for "elixir?"

**A3:** …Um. No.


	11. Conversations and Cat Fights

**Apologetic Opening Authoressial Note:** Oh man, it's been SO LONG since my last update. I seriously hate it when that happens. But I have my reasons, and they are stated in the (really long) EAN. But I'll stick an apology up here just 'cuz: I AM SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. Look at my sad face. :(

**Disclaimer:** Guess what? There's actually stuff in this that belongs to ME! Except for the obvious. Like Javert. And Valjean. Cosette, too. OH FINE, I'll admit it. Les Miz isn't mine. …Now everyone gasp in shock and disbelief to make me feel better.

* * *

Two cats sat on top of the piano in the sitting room of 1463 Rue de Luce. One of them was black, with sleek, glossy fur and a vaguely irate look about its features. The other was a tomcat, its red-brown fur short and scruffy and the corners of its mouth turned up in what was undeniably a smirk.

The black cat stiffened sharply and let out a sharp, brief yowl. In response, the tomcat lazily lifted a paw and cuffed his companion on the ear.

_Why, how, these are all deep philosophical questions better left to those who are still human. That Vivaldi guy got me too, though. I thought he was just bein' nice and friendly, buyin' me a drink. Next thing I know, I'm sayin' it tastes a bit funny an' then WHAM! I'm unconscious. I wake up, I'm a cat._ Green eyes narrowed and peered at Javert through the darkness. _I must say, you seem to be handlin' this rather well. I've had some blokes attack me because they can't take the weirdness._

One of Javert's ears twitched back. _**Suffice it to say that I've experienced something like this before**_**.**

A flash of kitty canines in an attempt at a grin. _And survived? Good for you! But I wouldn't get too keen on thinking you can get out of this one, bro._

_**What do you mean?**_ Javert inquired, one of his ears twitching back as he frowned.

_I mean that Vivaldi's only the messenger boy. There's this lady behind it all, and she's got a system. A working system. And she's got it down pat. Perhaps it was mentioned while you were in her presence that you had to stay with them for a while?_

_**Yes. I was curious about that, as a matter of fact.**_ Javert leaned forward. Raymond nodded.

_Well, here's how it works. She gets Vivaldi to turn ya into a cat. Then she gives you her whole "blah blah blah" speech, I dunno, I wasn't listening at the time. Too busy tryin' to claw her face off, y'dig? After that, the redhead takes you and dumps you in a room somewhere. The thing is, this room always has an escape route. No matter how small it may seem, it's never __too__ small for a cat to get through._

_**What are you trying to say?**_

Raymond's tail swished irritably. _I'm sayin' it's part of the plan. The process, if you will. Everyone gets turned into a cat, and everyone escapes. Then everyone turns back human, usually after about a week. I guess whatever Vivaldi gives ya wears off by about then. But don't get too excited, bro. It's when you're human again that you've really got to watch out._

There was a brief period of silence before Javert's patience ran out.

_**Wh –**_

_Because that's when the kid shows up._

Raymond leapt off the piano and onto the floor, making a soundless landing. Javert followed, but chose to hop first to the piano bench and then to the floor, not quite trusting himself to jump that far in his feline form.

_No one's seen the kid look the same. His hair color changes, his clothing changes, his accent and his slang change. But his eyes are always the same. One's gray, the other's green. Then again, it doesn't matter what he looks like, because his personality is always the same, too._

The two cats padded through the house and into the kitchen. _He shows up out of nowhere. No one else ever seems to notice him. He acts like he wants to be your friend, but not really, because he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's insane. And he – _Raymond stiffened all of a sudden. _Ah, snap. I gotta run._

_**What? No! You can't just –**_

_I can, and I gotta,_ Raymond insisted with a strained yowl. _Us fully-transformed kitties, we can't stay in the house for too long or – or we get in trouble, 'kay? Just be sure to get outta here before you turn back, and – hang it. I can't stay._ He leapt up to the open kitchen window. _Catch me tomorrow, bro! I'll be in the garden!_

As he leapt out the window, he left a final yowl hanging in the air. _The collar! Watch out for the collar!_

A frustrated Javert watched him disappear. After a moment, though, he cheered up. At least he knew more than he had earlier. Even if it _had_ involved a talking cat.

~x^^x~

The next morning, Javert was awoken by a half-asleep Valjean treading on his tail. With a cross between a shriek and a yowl, he shot across the room, banged into the cabinets beneath the counter, and then proceeded to scramble for cover underneath the table, where he lurked and fumed, in pain and feeling thoroughly undignified.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Valjean exclaimed, sounding truly contrite. "So that's where you got to. Cosette was looking for you last night. I am sorry, _chat_." He tried to coax Javert out from underneath the table, but the former inspector was having none of it. "Well, when you decide to come out, there will be breakfast for you."

This peace offering did not affect Javert in the slightest, mainly because he wasn't hungry. At the first opportunity, he took himself and his still-throbbing tail and went outside via the route Raymond had taken the previous night. He wasn't quite as graceful about it, though, and ended up falling off the windowsill into the bushes below.

As it turned out, this was only the beginning of what ended up being a very bad day.

Raymond was _not_ in the garden. In fact, he wasn't _anywhere_. Javert tried speaking to several of the other cats, but they either couldn't or wouldn't converse with him. It was two in the afternoon when he finally got fed up and cornered one of the smaller cats, a timid-looking creature with light gray fur and blue eyes.

_**What's going on here?**_ he snarled, going into full interrogation mode as the cat mewled in terror and pressed itself up against the wall of the house. _**I can tell that something happened, and I want to know what. You're going to tell me.**_

The cat started to cry, a sound that was surprisingly loud especially considering its small size. Javert cuffed it on the ear, much as Raymond had done the same to him the night before.

_**Don't make me use force. And cut out that ridiculous racket.**_

_I can't!_ it wailed hysterically. _Anyone who talks will probably end up the same – _

It broke off, clamping its tiny mouth shut. Javert's ears went back.

_**Go on.**_

Its only response was to start crying again. Before Javert could say anything else, he was bodily tackled and sent sprawling across the yard. His self-defense instincts kicking in, he struggled out from underneath his attacker and whirled to find himself facing a yellowish tabby that was at least a size bigger than he was.

_Leave him alone,_ the tabby snarled. All the fur on its back was standing on end, and it looked ready to fight. _You're the newcomer. You don't know what it's like._

_**Maybe I WOULD if someone would TELL me!**_ Javert shot back, his body coiled in an attack crouch. _**But all I'm getting is vague hints and –**_

_You don't get to KNOW until it happens to you,_ hissed the tabby. _That's the rule._

_**Whose rule? I thought cats didn't follow rules,**_ Javert spat contemptuously. The tabby's eyes narrowed.

_We're not just cats, though. We were people, once – all of us. And we've seen the price to be paid for disobeying. Raymond was a fool. Not only did he stay inside the house for far too long, but he talked to you about all kinds of things that he should never have mentioned to anyone. Ever._

_**Oh, really? That doesn't sound foolish to me. That sounds more like he was trying to be helpful.**_ Now it was Javert's turn to narrow his eyes. _**Trying to be BRAVE. Unlike the rest of – **_

He didn't get to finish his sentence. The tabby cat leapt at him, and Javert was ready for it. As a hissing, spitting catfight ensued, the gray cat from earlier started crying even louder.

Javert should have been at a disadvantage, but unlike his opponent, he knew how to fight – in a human body, at least. Adapting his knowledge to his feline form, he ducked under a flying leap from the other cat, twisted his body, and delivered a powerful kick to his opponent with one of his hind legs. Amazingly, the tabby seemed mostly unfazed, diving for him and digging its claws into his back. Javert yelped in pain and surprise as it also fastened its teeth into the skin at the back of his neck.

Out of nowhere, ice-cold water descended upon the pair, causing them to leap apart with startled cries. The tabby fled to a distant part of the yard, while Javert remained in place, shaking himself off and looking up to glower at the culprit.

Valjean's hand descended upon Javert's feline form and grabbed him by his already-injured neck scruff, hauling him effortlessly into the air. "Really? A _fight_? I had expected more out of you."

_**Well, I'm sorry I don't meet your high standards of feline behavior,**_ Javert yowled. Valjean ignored him, holding the cat against his chest as he inspected the hand that had picked him up.

"Oh, dear! You're bleeding! That won't do at all. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you'd gotten injured. Come to think of it, that cat was much bigger than you. He probably started it, didn't he? Don't worry. I'll get you fixed up in no time."

As it turned out, the injuries were not very bad at all. The fight had been brief and fairly unimpressive, and the damage inflicted on Javert, at any rate, reflected this. However, he did like to think that the tabby would be nursing a giant bruise later from that kick. It had been a rather impressive kick.

"You're staying inside for the rest of the day," Valjean said, his tone of voice reprimanding. "I don't want you getting into any more trouble."

Javert glared at him sullenly from the position he had taken up on top of the piano. The tip of his tail flicked defiantly. _**Fine.**_

As Valjean left the room, Javert noticed his hand rest on the piano keys for just a second, and a pang of guilt made his ear twitch back. It then proceeded to get stuck that way, which led to him batting at his head with one paw, losing his concentration, and falling off the piano for the second time in as many days.

_**#! I HATE BEING A CAT!**_

~x^^x~_**  
**_

"What happened, Vivaldi?"

The redhead knelt in front of the woman, his head bowed. "The one named Raymond took a chance. He remained in your house beyond the allotted time period and gave Inspector Javert vital information regarding our practices."

"And have you dealt with the situation?"

"Yes, my lady. The rulebreaker has been… detained."

"And suitably punished?"

"Of course."

"And what of the inspector? He is clever, he would not simply let it go at that."

"He attempted to obtain further information from the other feline residents. They would not disclose anything to him, and one of them got into a fight with him over his inquiries."

"Excellent. My plan is coming along very nicely. And I think we can safely disregard anything that this _Raymond_ may have told our good inspector. After all, my kitten does his job _very_ well."

There was a brief pause, and then Vivaldi was dismissed. With a bow, he made his way out into the hall, where someone was waiting for him.

"Well?"

Vivaldi sighed. "You'll be going in soon."

"Yippee! You should look more excited, Viv. After all, this is only the culmination of _how_ many years of hard work…?"

"Exactly. You forget, I never wanted to be a part of this in the first place."

A hand reached up and chucked him lightly under the chin. "Chill out, Viv. _You_ forget, Madame saved your life. You owe heeeerrrr."

Vivaldi's expression darkened. "A life for a life hardly seems fair."

"Yeah, well, life ain't fair. Figure it out." So saying, his fellow conversationalist skipped off down the corridor, leaving Vivaldi to slump against the wall and bring a hand up to brush against the scar on his face.

"…Brat."

* * *

**A3:** Yo. So, it's apology time.

**Enjolras:** Dang straight.

**A3:** Shut up, you don't get to talk yet. (Official ahem-ing) I AM VERY SORRY THAT I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG AND LEFT YOU ALL WITH KIND OF A TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGER. But I have a reason! And this time, it isn't ninjas.

Pretty much I had this whole thing where I somehow came to the conclusion that this was not a good story, none of you liked it, and I should simply let it lapse into obscurity and oblivion. Part of this was also because I was stressing over the plot and its intricacies and whatnot, and worrying that I might inadvertently make a mistake.

And then one night, while I was cleaning the kitchen – it was around midnight-ish – I said to myself, "Hey! I am writing a fanfiction about a very serious man from a very serious novel getting turned into a cat. …WHY AM I EVEN WORRYING ABOUT THIS." And just like that, I pounded out chapter 11 (the next day, though) and HERE IT IS. I will proceed to no longer worry excessively about it, because it's already ridiculous (but the FUN kind), not to mention a rough draft, and therefore there shall be no more of these 3-month hiatus-thingies.

ALRIGHT, the rest of you may speak now.

**Enjolras:** I don't _feel_ like speaking. _Sacre bleu_, my HEAD. What happened…?

**All:** (Uncomfortable silence)

**Courfeyrac:** Um… well, you see, Oh Great and Fearless, not to mention Most Dignified, Leader –

**A3:** Nah, you'd better shut it, Courfey. It's probably better that he doesn't know. It'll let him keep him sense of personal dignity.

**Courfeyrac:** Yeah, you're probably right.

**Enjolras:** …Hunh? What are you two talking about? OW SERIOUSLY MY ACHING HEAD.

**Grantaire:** What you're currently experiencing, Apollo, is commonly known as a –

**Courfeyrax+A3:** DON'T TELL HIM!

**Grantaire: ** - hangover.

**Enjolras:** …WHAT.

**A3:** HE SPEAKS BLATHER. Don't listen to him. Listen to me! You tripped and hit your head! You just don't remember it because you've got, um, temporary amnesia, yeah!

**Enjolras:** (Glower) WOMAN.

**A3:** (Glower back) PRETTY-BOY.

**Bahorel:** Oh, for Heaven's sake. Enjolras, you inhaled massive amounts of sugary substances at an alarming rate (Skittles), experienced the sugar-high of the century (last chapter), and just woke up from a massive sugar crash (now). Your headache is a hangover, one brought about by the aforementioned events.

**Enjolras:** I… have… a _hangover_?

**Grantaire:** (Sage nod) That's what I said.

**A3:** A SUGAR hangover. Let's be specific, dude –

**Enjolras:** (Roar) I HAVE A _HANGOVER_? YOU MEAN I _ACTUALLY_ HAVE SOMETHING IN _COMMON_ WITH _THAT DEGENERATE SPECIMEN OF HUMANITY_? (Stabs finger in direction of Grantaire)

**A3:** Well, it's awfully mean of you to call him _degenerate_, I mean he's not bad-looking and when he's not drunk out of his skull he makes for quite an amiable conversationali –

**Enjolras:** !

**Courfeyrac:** Oh good, now he's too mad to do anything but emit punctuation marks until he cools off a bit. This used to happen at our meetings sometimes, you know. Never made it into the book, though. Not very grammatically correct.

**A3:** You know about the book?

**Courfeyrac:** Well, duh.

**Enjolras:** !

**A3:** Trying to chew through the chains with your teeth won't do you any good. They're CHAINS, ducky. …Made out of reinforced steel.

**Enjolras:** _!_

**A3:** I know you hate me. And you'd better watch that mouth, or I'll get Erik to gag you again. And you know how he LOVED doing that last time.

**Erik:** (Whips rag out from a pocket) OH DO LET ME.

**Enjolras:** _! _& _?_ & _!__  
_

**A3:** How long does it usually take him to –

**Bahorel:** 'Bout an hour. At the café, we used to just play cards and ignore him until he became sensible again. Either that, or we'd dump a bucket of cold water over his head. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it just made him madder and we had to wait longer.

**A3:** Hmm. Well, we'd better do the closing plea for reviews, then. Combeferre, would you like to – oof.

**Bahorel:** (Elbows her) He's conked out in the corner over there. Apparently caffeine doesn't agree with him.

**A3:** Oh, he'd better not have a hangover TOO when he wakes up. I don't think I can deal with two revolutionaries with sugar hangovers…

**Courfeyrac:** Hey readers! If you give us reviews, we'll use them to make cold compresses for Enjolras and Combeferre! You will be making the Authoress AND our leader and his second-in-command ALL happier! So, what do you say? PLEEEEEASE? Ha, it's not like you can resist my gorgeous pleading face anyway…

**Bahorel:** That last comment probably ruined all our chances of getting reviews from anyone, pretty-boy. Thanks a lot.

**Courfeyrac:** HEY! What? I AM –

**Bahorel:** Yeah yeah, whatever. IGNORE HIM, ladies and gentlemen. And do forgive the Authoress for her long absence. She did apologize, after all. And also, just for the record – I'm far better-looking than he is. I'VE got a MOUSTACHE. *Strokes it*

**Courfeyrac:** MOUSTACHES ARE SO –

**A3:** HEY! What are you guys doing? This is way too long already, END IT!

**Bahorel+Courfeyrac:** BUT –

**A3:** I SAID **END IT.**


End file.
